


Permafrost

by okaykiwi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Marvel Universe, Peter Parker smut, Self Insert, Smut, Spider Man - Freeform, marvel smut, mcu - Freeform, spider man smut, spiderman - Freeform, spiderman self insert, spiderman smut, tom holland - Freeform, tom holland smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-25 00:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaykiwi/pseuds/okaykiwi
Summary: Tony Stark has hired the mountain guide company you work for to assist him and the Avengers on an upcoming mission, you just happen to be invited to the formal party. You meet a cute spider-boy and some mild smut ensues. Might make this a multi-chapter thing… we’ll see. Also, this definitely does not take place in the MCU timeline with Endgame and Tony dying and whatnot. And everyone is of legal age here!!!
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 115





	1. LBD

Although it was nowhere close to your everyday look, you found a strange sense of comfort in the tight black dress wrapped around your body. You look nervously around at all the other tall, beautiful, elegantly dressed people around you and can’t help but feel out of place. This black dress can be your disguise. You don’t have to be yourself here. However easy it would be to come up with some fake name and a fake identity, force yourself to mingle, that just wasn’t you. So you silently reside to another glass of wine and desperately look around for someone you know.  
Working for a mountain guide company had its perks, flexible hours, no dress code, living the dream that you had envisioned for yourself since you were twelve. You did not imagine high falutin black-tie events to be in your job description. Your boss had just been hired by Tony Stark to accompany him and the Avengers on some top-secret mission in Antarctica. Something about lost alien artifacts. You weren’t high up enough to get any of the details, but being the only woman hired in the history of the company you got a ticket to the big event to make the company look a little diverse.  
You adjust the strap of your dress and fiddle with your handbag to kill some time. You figured it would be rude to sink back into a corner and stare at your phone, yet you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to go introduce yourself to any superheroes or businessmen. So you stay in limbo, finding quiet ways to pass the time, desperately trying to make eye contact with anyone.  
Right as you start to turn to go to the bathroom for the third time tonight, perhaps to fix your lipstick for a minute or ten, a strong hand taps your shoulder  
“I hate these things too,” you turn to the boy, who was leaning against the door frame next to you, “I’m surprised to see someone my age here, usually everyone at these things are ancient.”  
You laugh nervously and turn to him, trying to think of something clever to respond with but coming up blank, distracted by his curls and big brown eyes.  
“I’m Peter, by the way, mind keeping me company? I don’t exactly fit in with all this adult chit chat.”  
“Yeah, yeah, sure of course,” you stutter, feeling like an idiot, realizing you must have been staring with your mouth wide open. He probably came over here because he felt bad, maybe you should escape to the bathroom anyways… “I’m y/n”  
“What brings you here y/n?” he asks, driving the conversation forward, “is one of these old geezers your dad or something?”  
“No actually,” you laugh a little, “I work for the climbing guide company Stark just hired.”  
“Oooh so will you be guiding us through the treacherous mountains of Antarctica next month,” Peter asks, flirting a little. You stare at him for a moment, trying to register what he meant by “us.” You didn’t recognize him as anyone significant, so you brush it off.  
“Nah, they will probably send Stephen and Eric, they are the most experienced climbers. I’ve only been working there for a few years. Never been to Antarctica to climb actually, but I’ve heard its wild.” You look away, avoiding eye contact. His eyes staring intently at you as you talk causes a pink to rise up in the apples of your cheeks.  
“Mind if I grab you another?” He offers, gesturing to your empty glass. You agree and follow him across the ballroom to where the bar is stationed. You feel a wave of relief now that you have someone to talk to at least for now, at least until it’s an appropriate time to escape home.  
“So if you aren’t guiding Avengers through the snowy mountains, what do you do at this job of yours,” he asks, seeming to genuinely want to know.  
“Well I’ve been climbing for basically my whole life, so this job is really a dream. I travel to different national parks and run programs for beginner climbers, show them the ropes and stuff,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty new still, the more experienced workers get to do cool stuff like this job. Hopefully, in a few years, I’ll be doing more stuff like that.”  
You weren’t sure why you felt so comfortable around this boy. You were never much of a talker, and it was either him or the wine that was making you so chatty. Quickly changing the subject, you ask him, “So what do you do here? You the son of one of these old geezers?”  
“I deal with more of the local operations of Stark Industries,” Peter answers playfully, avoiding telling you directly that he’s Spiderman, “you know, community improvement type stuff.”  
Finding a seat in a far-off corner the two of you talk about everything and nothing. You tell him about your summer spent in Yosemite, and he tells you about his summer trip to Europe. The conversation flows unusually well, despite Peter dancing around questions. It's not that he couldn’t tell you that he’s Spiderman, he just liked the feeling of being treated like anyone else. He liked the feeling of you wanting to talk to him.  
His eyes danced across your bare shoulders, admiring the curve of your neck and how your dress fell perfectly across your chest. You notice him staring, but you like the way his soft eyes follow across you. You start to feel your face get hot again and turn away to sip your drink.  
“Thank you for saving me, I barely know anyone here and I’m the worst at small talk,” you tell him sincerely, “I wasn’t even going to come, but I felt like I had to, you know? Can’t pass up the chance to party at the Stark Tower.”  
“I’m glad you came,” he tells you, eyes burning into yours, “then I would have missed the opportunity to meet someone so interesting.”  
“Shut up cheeseball,” you laugh as you playfully punch his arm, “for all you know I’m horrible and awful but just an incredibly good actress. This dress just brings out a different side of me.” You joke, sitting up a little straighter in your chair, wiggling your shoulders.  
“Well I’d like to see the side of you that’s out of that dress,” Peter mumbles. You stare at him with wide eyes, trying to gauge if he was joking. You laugh a little to ease the tension, but you can see a fire behind his eyes. It was so unlike you to even be at an event like this, so unlike you to be drinking wine and flirting with a cute boy, so why shouldn’t you continue to do some things that are a little out of character?  
You grab his knee, leaning in, “outside in 5, yeah?”  
He nods a little too eagerly, but you don’t mind. The attention he had been giving you all night is what fueled this strange wave of confidence, and you were going to ride is as long as it lasted.  
Placing your glass on an empty table, you sharply turn and start toward the doors, trying not to look too eager. The thought of him not following you crosses your mind, but you are too embarrassed to turn around to check. If he doesn’t show you will be beelining home for sure, take it as a loss and never show your face at Stark Industries again, not that you would ever have a reason to.  
You press your back against the cool tile of the wall in the hallway, running your hands through your hair as the reality sets in of what you just did. A pit starts to form in your stomach, the aftermath of all that found confidence wearing off. Just as you were about to book it through the large double doors at the end of the hallway, you see him approaching you. He gestures to a closed door down the hall, and you follow him through it. It was a plain room with a fireplace and some couches, probably used for smaller social events.  
Placing an arm over your shoulder, pressed up against the wall behind you, he leans in, close but not too close. “are you asking me what I think you are?” his tone still flirtatious, but with a hint of real concern, “I know I seem very charming and all, but I actually don’t do things like this very often.”  
Your eyes meet his and a smile creeps across your lips, “And I know that I seem amazingly confident” you retort “but would you believe me if I said I don’t do things like this very often either?”  
It was true, you were no prude by any standards, but bringing someone you just met into some random locked room at a work function was not really in your repertoire. Even though the butterflies in your stomach seemed to feel more like wild geese, there was a certain quality about him that gave you a sense of ease.  
“If you are interested in doing what you think I’m asking,” you finally respond, “then yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”  
He leans in closer, lips hovering over yours, breathing heavily but steadily. “If you want to stop, just say the word,” he tells you, and you nod understanding, “but the way you look in this dress has made it so fucking hard for me to not do this any sooner” he whispers into you before colliding your mouths together.  
He takes your face between his large hands, stroking his thumb across your cheek as he kisses you deep and harshly. While the kiss was passionate and desperate, there was still something so sweet and gentile about him. You kiss him back with an open mouth, wanting more. Your arms wrap around him as his hands travel from your face down to your hips, grabbing you firmly and pressing you into the wall behind.  
Your hands naturally weave their way into his brown curls, pulling his face impossibly closer to yours. His tongue slips under yours and you let out a breathy moan, feeling his mouth on yours. Daringly you take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull back a little, looking back up at him to meet his eyes. Blown out and filled with lust, he stares back at you wanting nothing more than your mouth on his again.  
In one fell swoop he lifts your legs off the ground, instinctively wrapping them around his suited torso. You lean into him more, tongues meeting between wet open lips. He slowly starts to make his way across the room with you, not wanting to break the kiss, but also not wanting to trip over a coffee table. He seats you down gently on the couch below him, finally separating his lips from yours.  
Although you wouldn’t mind just making out with this boy forever, never leaving the four walls of this random parlor, the way he looked standing above you, hair a mess and suit jacket rumpled made you want so much more. Before he could join you on the couch you sit back on your thighs, causing your dress to ride up quite a bit. Peter bites his lip, “fuck y/n.”  
You press your open palms to his thighs and look up to him with big needy eyes. You slowly start to move one hand up, asking permission “can I? take these off?” he nods and helps you with his belt, allowing you to take care of the zipper and buttons. As he takes a moment to pool his pants down at his ankles, you seize the opportunity to let the top of your dress slide down a little, revealing your upper half.  
“I knew I would like you better out of that dress,” Peter jokes, but the underlying tone in his voice goes right to your core, growing wetter and wetter the more he looks at you. Noticing the already wet patch at the tip of Peter’s boxers, you lean forward once more and lick a stripe up his clothed member, “and I think I’m gonna like you better out of these too” you comment back.  
Throwing his head back at the sudden contact, Peter brings his hands to your hair, holding it back for you but not forcefully. You were taking your time with him, feeling him through his boxers until his tip began to poke out of the top waistband. Taking that as your cue, you slide down his underwear, joining them with his dress pants around his ankles. You were a little intimidated by his size, certainly a bit larger than any dick you had taken before, but your theme of the night was confidence and you tried to not let it shake you.  
You take a hold of his base, making sure to look up at him as you lick a long stripe up the underside of his hard cock. “Fuck y/n you look so fucking good like that” Peter praises you as you start to slowly pump his dick. Taking his head between your lips and starting to match rhythm with your hand, you started sucking his dick like you never had before. There was something in you that wanted to make him feel good, that wanted this to be memorable for him, you wanted to give this boy the best goddamned blowjob of his life.  
Tears form in the corners of your eyes, surely ruining your perfect makeup. You give it more and more as you take as much of him as will fit down your throat. Continuing to pump the remaining shaft with your hand, you bob your head as tightly and as deep as your throat will allow. The soft mumbles and profanities that fall from his lips encourage you to keep going, letting you know that you are doing a good job. You like the way his grip on your hair slightly tightens, showing you that he likes what you are doing.  
Picking up speed, and now jerking him off with both hands as your mouth takes care of the rest, you feel his hips buck forward slightly. “Fuck y/n I’m close, I’m gonna…” Peter moans, and starts to pull away from you to come into your hands, but you lean forward, continuing to suck him off, taking his cum deep in your throat as he unloads into you.  
“Shit y/n that was…that was so fucking… you really didn’t have to do that” he says, still catching his breath.  
“I know, but I wanted to,” you respond, licking your lips seductively.  
“That was so fucking amazing, I…,”he says, hands running through his hair and straightening out his button-up. He picks up his phone from where it had landed on the ground, noticing a slew of new messages.  
“Fuck,” he looks at you apologetically, “I gotta get back in there, only for a little bit, but I owe you one, because that was fucking amazing so please don’t go,” he rambles as he frantically puts his dress pants back on and adjusts his belt. You also fix your dress, covering yourself back up. “I mean it,” he says to you with sincere eyes right before dashing out the door.  
You head into the nearest bathroom and fix yourself up. The pool between your legs had basically ruined the underwear you were wearing, and your makeup was close to gone. You tossed your hair up, fixed up your face although your lips were still a little red and puffy. The thought crossed your mind to just head home, let this be a one-time thing that he can remember, but your purse was in the ballroom, so you had to at least make it back for that.  
Entering the event hall, the room was at a hush as someone on stage was making a speech. You didn’t think much of it, keeping your head down and looking for your bag, until you heard the familiar voice of your boss on the mic. “Thank you so much to Mr. Stark for giving us this amazing opportunity…” You turn your head to see your boss and Tony stark shaking hands, with a row of people standing behind them on stage, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, people you commonly knew as the Avengers. Your eyes travel down the line of them only to land on Peter.  
Why had you not realized this before. The passing comments, the thing about the Antarctica mission. As your eyes land on him he is looking directly at you, a smug smirk across that gorgeous face. He shoots you a wink and your mouth drops slightly. You had just blown one of earth’s mightiest heroes. You had just sucked off Spiderman.


	2. Wrinkled Bedsheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Peter mane your way upstairs to his bedroom at Stark Tower, nothing but pure smut ensues.   
word count: 5,234 of filth

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed over your chest, shaking your head. You could not fucking believe it. Your eyes follow Peter as he walks off the stage with the other Avengers, shaking the hands of your boss and the other mountain guide workers. You suddenly felt a strange combination of embarrassment and confidence. You had just given a mind blowing orgasm to a fucking superhero, but you also hadn’t realized that for the first three hours of the night.  
Still spaced out, thinking of the night’s prior events you failed to realize Peter walking directly towards you.   
“Hellooo, earth to y/n,” he jokes, waiving a hand in front of your face, “busy thinking about me, huh?”  
“Sorry, sorry, I… just feel kind of stupid,” you answer, finally looking up at him.   
“Hey, no, back there that was… that was great, so fucking great, don’t feel like..” he starts  
“Not that you dummy,” you punch his arm and shoot him a grin, “I certainly don’t feel stupid about that. Why didn’t you tell me you were…”  
“I just liked the feeling that you liked me as a person and not just because I’m famous or an Avenger or whatever,” he looks down, speaking softly.  
“Hey,” you lift his chin up, “you are fucking cool and your dick is kind of huge, and I was going to suck you off in that closet either way,” you joke, causing him to crack a smile.   
“Can I get you another drink? Maybe show you around a little bit?” He asks, hoping you wanted to stick around a little longer. You nod and a big smile flashes across his face. You had just thought about leaving and letting this be a fond memory, an interesting story to tell your friends, but the way he smiled at you and grabbed your hand made this feel more important than some hookup at a party.   
He drags you over to a large round table occupied by some intimidating figures. Before you could realize what was going on, Peter was introducing you to some people you had only ever seen fighting aliens on the news.  
“This is y/n!” Peter exclaims to the group, “She works for the mountain guide company that’s taking us to Antarctica.”  
“Very interesting, will you be joining us there?” Bruce Banner inquires, seeming to actually want to know.  
“No, probably not. Definitely a job for older, more experienced climbers,” you laugh, “I just feel lucky to have been invited to this party.”  
You feel like an ant amongst giants, a peasant next to gods, but you try to keep your cool and laugh along with the casual conversation of the table. They talk briefly of the upcoming mission, not saying much that you don’t already know. Occasionally one of them, usually Bruce or Steve would ask you a directed question to make you feel included in the conversation.   
The night is starting to slow down, most of the guests clearing out by this point. Peter nods his head away from the table, signaling you to follow him.   
“Can I show you around a little?” he asks, “and I believe I do still owe you something…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh.   
“Peter you really don’t owe me anything,” you say, leaning on him, “I wanted to do that earlier. I liked doing it.” You bat your eyelashes a little and lick your lower lip.   
Peter walks you around the winding hallways of Stark Tower, rambling nonstop about the building, all the rooms, the Avengers, what they do on a day to day basis. Some of what he said flew right by you, and other parts you actually found quite interesting. Most of all you liked seeing him talk about something he was so clearly passionate about. He was newly an Avenger after all, and you’re sure it takes a while for the excitement to wear off.   
The two of you had made your way up to one of the top floors of the tower before you realized you were at Peter’s door.   
“This is my room, my room here anyways,” he tells you, a nervous energy in his voice, “I didn’t mean to imply anything earlier. I want you to know that if you don’t want to do anything, you don’t have to, I was just thinking…” you cut off his stream of consciousness with your lips on his, gentile, but enough to tell him you were still interested.   
“Peter,” you look at him dead in the eyes, “I want to go in your room. I want you to kiss me, I want you to touch me, and I want you to…” your voice trailed off  
“Oh thank god,” he says, capturing your lips again, mumbling into you, “I really, really fucking want you.”  
He fumbles with the door, eventually leading you through it and into his small but cozy bedroom. It was generally clean other than the strewn papers all over his desk and open books haphazardly dotting the room. He moves quickly over to his bed, sitting on the edge nervously as you looked around his room. Walking over to him you place your legs between his, standing above him, positioning yourself exactly as he had stood over you earlier that evening.   
His strong hands grip behind your thighs and pull you into his lap, causing your tight dress to ride up considerably. Peter was still seated at the edge of the bed, but now with you straddling his hips, lips melting into his.   
“I still haven’t got to see you out of this dress yet,” he whispers into your open mouth as his hands move up from your hips up to your waist.  
You pull away from his kiss and lean back to take your hair out of its updo. It fell softly around your shoulders, a few stray pieces making their way in front of your face. He runs his hands through your messy locks, comfortably finding their place tangled in your roots.   
Although you wanted to jump his bones here and now, you knew that this wasn’t just a quick fuck. The bulge growing in his pants gave you something to grind against, causing him to squirm a little underneath you.   
You wanted him to rip your dress off in a fit of passion, and you could tell that he wanted that as well. However, this dress was perhaps the most expensive piece of clothing you owned, and the complicated mess of buttons and zippers that kept it perfectly snug to your figure were proving to be an obstacle.   
Getting up from his lap you kick off your shoes and start to make work on getting yourself out of your dress.   
“Sorry,” you begin to explain, “dresses like this always have a ridiculously difficult zip and snap mechanism. I didn’t expect you to know how to maneuver your way around that.” You laugh a little, easing up the harsh sexual tension that filled the air like thick smoke. He watched you with hooded eyes, his tongue sticking slightly out between his teeth as he watched you wiggle your way out.   
Before it could fully register to either of you, you were standing in front of him completely naked. Your underwear slipped off with your dress, and you had no bra to remove in the first place. You kicked your dress away from your ankles and looked over to him, eyes instantly meeting. You didn’t have to wait long for a sign to go over to him. He reaches out and takes your hand, slowly moving his touch up your arm.   
“You…,” he begins to say something but his words trail off as his hands wander from your arms to your waist, up to your shoulders, “are so freaking beautiful.”   
You giggle a little and tuck your head into your shoulder, hiding the bright red that was taking over your cheeks.   
“I knew I was gonna like you better without that dress on.” He pulls you into a kiss again, this one was a lot softer, he was taking his time with you. Although you were both starving for each other he wanted to wait, he wanted to make you feel good.   
Until this moment, you hadn’t realized how nice his hands were. They were much larger than yours, covering a vast amount of territory when he grabbed your waist. They were strong and steady and warm. You didn’t want him to stop touching you for anything.  
In a quick motion that caused a short gasp to escape you, he lifted you and swung you around so you were now positioned underneath him on the bed. Your limbs flopped down like they were wet rags, and your hair spilled all around your face.   
He positioned his still clothed body over yours, taking your face in his hands as he kissed you, tongue slipping easily into your mouth. His leg was positioned in between yours, giving your throbbing core something to make contact with. You wrap your arms around his neck, locking your heads together for the moment being.   
His hands that you were quickly growing to love made their way to your boobs, finding a comfortable handful that he playfully squeezed. You arch your back a little as he takes one of your nipples between his rough fingers, rolling it slightly causing it to stiffen up.   
You moan into his kiss as he continues to make work on your chest, finding you let out a little whimper every time he squeezes your nipple between his fingers. As you let out another noise, he presses his leg into you slightly, increasing the needed contact between him and your dripping center.   
“You like that?” he asks you with a slightly cocky tone, as he obviously already knows the answer.   
“Fuck,” is all that you can say or think in a breathy tone as he presses his hips further into yours, belt buckle coldly pressing into your soft skin.   
“Can I touch you?” his hand hovering between you, ready to make contact.   
“Please, Peter, please.” Before the phrase is out of your mouth your tongue meets his, his hand now making contact exactly where you need it.  
The sight of his long fingers running up and down through your folds, gathering your wetness between them, was almost enough to send you toppling over the edge.   
He is moving back now, his button-up no longer pressed against your arched chest. He positions himself back on his knees between your legs as his hands make slow and steady work of your pussy.   
Looking into your eyes for silent permission, he watches as your eyes flutter back mouth gaping open as he slips a finger into you. His thumb rubs soft circles on your clit as his long digit curls its way inside of you.   
“Peter, I...,” unable to complete your thought, you moan out his name as he slips a second finger into you. Your hips lift slightly to move against his hand, your motions almost completely out of your control at this point.   
“Y/n,” Peter looks at you, his voice much steadier than yours, “I want to taste you, so fucking bad.”   
You roll your head to the side and look down at him as he kisses a soft trail across your thigh. You moan out, not in pleasure but in need. He leaves open mouthed kisses all around you, but never where you want him.   
Moving his thumb away from your clit, but keeping his two middle fingers still slowly pumping inside of you he finally brings his mouth to your pussy, licking a wide stripe up the middle before latching his lips around yours.   
Although you wanted to watch his every movement, take in the sight of him completely devouring you, you couldn’t help but throw your head back in pleasure. A nonstop string of moans left your mouth, his name over and over with the occasional profanity, but mostly just your heavy breathing and whimpers.   
The sight of him between your legs, still in his formal attire from the party, his hair a mess from your hands constantly running through it and tugging at his roots made you swoon. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, his nose firmly pressed into the soft flesh above your center.   
“Oh my god Peter I’m going to…,” your body beginning to writhe against his tongue as you felt your orgasm grow closer, “fuck, fuck, Peter you are gonna make me come, please don’t stop.”   
The two fingers inside you start to curl against your upper wall a little harder now as he picks up the pace. His lips still latched around your clit, tongue flicking and sucking on you, driving you over the edge.   
One of your hands reaches down to his hair, needing something to grab on to, while the other stayed firmly pressed against your chest. Your back fully arches, giving you that extra force pressing you into his mouth.   
Your legs start to shake and he holds one down with the hand that’s not occupied pleasuring you. It felt as if he had been slowly and carefully pouring himself into you all night and now you were fully overflowing, and he was not letting up.   
You contract around his fingers and sit up slightly, your orgasm fully taking over your body movements.   
“Holy fuck Peter I’m…” not that you needed to tell him, as your whole body was moving with the waves of your pleasure, “Peter I’m coming, fuck.”  
He groans slightly into you, vibrations adding to your pulsing climax. Your firm grip around his hair lets loose a little as you relax your body. You flop back, body going fully limp as he pulls his two fingers out of you, but still leaving soft kisses on your clit.   
“Fuck Peter that was...” you muster up the energy to say, still completely out of breath, “so, so, so fucking good.”  
“Hey, I told you,” he says, wiping the glistening fluid away from his mouth and chin, “I owed you one from earlier.” He winks at you, sending more shocks of arousal to your core despite the sarcastic and cocky attitude.   
You had had a nice back and forth throughout the night, finding that his sarcasm and humor met yours. You weren’t expecting him to be so forward and confident in the bedroom though. He struck you more as the quiet nerdy type. His attitude toward making you feel good and taking his time with you came as a surprise, but certainly not a bad one.   
Although he had his moments of confidence, he did let the awkward nerd slip out occasionally.   
“But that was, like, good for you right? I did an okay job??” he asks with genuine concern. You sit up to meet your face with him, taking his face between your hands. 

“Peter,” kissing him between words, finding his mouth to be slick and warm, but you liked it, “that…was the best…fucking head I have ever…received in my whole…goddamn life.”  
You look at him dead in his big brown eyes, a smile creeping up on his face.   
“And now,” you say lying back onto the bed, “I really, really want you to fuck me.”  
You reach up and stroke the rock hard bulge in his pants, grabbing at his shaft through his clothes.   
“You need to catch up with me Parker,” you quip as you start making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He undoes his tie and sits up on his knees so you can have better access to his belt buckle. He slips out of his shirt and white undershirt, revealing a beautifully toned chest and abs.   
You were focusing on his belt and zipper, and had yet to realize the godlike body that was directly above you. Distracted by the tent in his pants, you didn’t look up until you found his hand cupping the side of your face.   
Your eyes widen at the sight of him, mouth opening slightly only to be captured by his in a kiss. This was not slow and gentle as it had been before. He was hungry for you. He wanted you.   
Not bothering to let you finish taking off his pants he moves you back flat onto the bed, one hand firmly on your jaw and the other moving back in between your legs.   
“Peter, fuck I…Peter I need you,” you whimper into his neck before latching your mouth to his hot skin. Your hands wrapped around his strong biceps, feeling his muscles flex underneath your touch.   
“You need me?” Peter asks, now moving between your neck to sensually kiss that magic spot between your jaw and your ear. “Tell me what you need, tell me exactly what you want,” he whispers in a deep tone that sends shivers down your spine.  
His hips were gyrating into you, the tip of his cock once again poking out of the waistband of his boxers. His pants had slipped down to his knees, and his underwear was not leaving anything to the imagination.  
“Peter,” you moan a little, but decide to play this game with him a little, if he wanted to tease you he would have to take it back as well, “Peter I want you in me. Ever since I saw your cock earlier, ever since I had it in my mouth, all I could think about was how you would feel inside of me.”   
You let every dirty thought you had all night escape your lips, rubbing your body against his and making him groan with anticipation. You bite your lip and look up at him, neither one of you able to keep it up for much longer.   
Reaching into his nightside table he pulls out a condom. You were slightly relieved that you didn’t have to be the one to ask, taking if from him and offering to put in on him yourself.   
He slips out of his underwear and pants, tossing them somewhere across the room. You had seen his dick earlier, but the sight of him completely naked was something else entirely. You tried to focus on the task at hand, the condom, but couldn’t help your wandering eyes from burning holes into his perfect body.   
You took control for a second, moving his shoulders to signal that you wanted him to lay on his back. Raising an eyebrow, he watched you with a sensual look in his eye as you moved on top of him, positioning yourself to sit down on his vertical cock.   
“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking night,” his hands moving to your hips, guiding you down onto his fully erect member.   
You let out a throaty moan as you sink onto him, his size stretching your walls a little. Your hands come down to his chest as you position yourself to start riding him. Your hips rising up a little bit only to sink back down.   
“You are so fucking perfect,” Peter says, almost lovingly, as he starts to move up into you, meeting your pace with his.   
His hands gripped firmly on your hips helped you bounce up and down on him, grinding your clit into his pubic bone. You lean forward and start to kiss his neck, up and down its length from his ear to his collarbone.   
His hand maneuvers its way between you and finds its place on your clit once again. The tight and hard circles he’s rubbing into you cause the knot in your stomach to turn and tighten.   
“Peter, fuck, please make me come again,” you plead into his neck, feeling his pace quicken.   
“I want you to come on me,” he replies, out of breath but not tired, “fuck y/n I want to feel you.”  
With that you lurch your body up, now sitting straight up on him as your second orgasm of the night hits you like a bag of rocks. Your legs tighten around his torso and your head whips back as his name comes out of your mouth over and over.   
He can feel you pulsating around him, your juices dripping between your two bodies. The way you are rocking your hips against him, riding out your orgasm is getting him there.   
“You look so fucking good like this y/n, you’re gonna make me come soon.” His hips snap up into you repeatedly, causing you to bounce in unison down on his cock. Your orgasm still making waves in you, you try to meet his pace and fuck yourself onto him.   
Lip tucked between his teeth, his eyes squinted shut as he plows a few more powerful thrusts into you before filling up the condom.   
“Y/n I just, fuck, I just came, I’m…”   
You lean down and kiss him deeply, your sticky body pressing fully against his. You grind against him a little, just to tease before lifting yourself off him completely. You flop back down onto him, face burying into the crook of his neck.   
“Fuck y/n that was…”  
“Yeah,” you respond before he can even finish his thought, “it really fucking was.”   
You lay there for a moment, just basking in the post orgasm feeling. You could have fallen asleep right then, your body perfectly tangled with his, but you knew you should probably go. Too afraid to ask if he wanted you to stay or not, you turn to him deciding to ask,  
“Where is there a bathroom I can use?”   
Removing his arm from underneath your head, he directs you over to a door by his closet to a small bathroom. Shuffling over to it, not bothering to take any of your clothes, you slip into the small room and sit back on the toilet.  
You close your eyes and replay the events from tonight back in your head. You weren’t really a hookup type of person, and the fact that you had just slept with a fucking superhero was still beyond you. You pee, wash your hands, and splash some cold water on your face before gathering the courage to go back out there and meet him.  
You exit the bathroom and see Peter sat up against his headboard, legs splayed out beneath him. What you weren’t expecting to see was his cock standing fully erect again. Pressing flat up against his stomach.  
You walk over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and looking at him with a mix of confusion and concern.   
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, gesturing to his raging hard on, “it’s not you, well it is you. But it’s a Spiderman thing. I have, like, a stupid short refractory period and dumb endurance, so it usually takes a while to get rid of this,” he explains moving his boner so it flopped down and back up to his chest.   
The way he talked just did something to you, sent all sorts of feelings to your body. He was so awkward yet confident and cool at the same time? He was funny and smart, he made you laugh and he made you come like no one else has…You snap out of your daze and seat yourself back on his lap, straddling him as you had been minutes before.   
You reach down in between you two and start to stroke his cock, pumping it in your hand.   
“I really mean it y/n” Peter says, closing his eyes in pleasure, “you really don’t have to do anything, you’ve already made me feel so good.”  
“But what if,” you start to say before shifting your body back, sliding down his legs so you were now eye level with his cock, “I really want to.”  
You lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft while making eye contact, waiting for his response.   
“Fuck,” he grunts out as you take his head in between your lips, “I’m not gonna stop you if you really want to.”  
You swing your leg around so that you were seated on one of his legs, back arched and his cock in your mouth for the second time that night.   
With every movement of your head bobbing up and down on him, your body moved against his leg, rubbing your still dripping pussy against his tough skin.   
“Fuck y/n,” he moans out, “that’s so fucking hot.”  
You concentrate on your breathing as you try to take as much of him as possible, his tip sliding against the back of your throat. You move your tongue against his underside as your lips continue to move up and down.   
You continue to grind against his leg, providing a less intense but lengthier orgasm for yourself. A steady stream of pleasure rippling through you as you continue to suck him off.   
“Mmmmm,” you moan onto his dick as your orgasm reaches its peak, the sound of your pleasure making him closer.  
His thighs tense underneath you and begin to twitch a little, signaling you that he’s close. You pick up the pace, continuing to grind yourself against his leg and ride out your orgasm, taking him as fast and as deep into your throat as your mouth will allow.   
“Holy shit y/n, you’re gonna make me come again,” his legs flexing and twitching around you.  
You keep him deep in your mouth as he comes, quickly swallowing him up. You continue to slowly pump him, licking up the come that was dripping down his shaft. You release his head with a pop and look back up at him with lustful eyes.   
“You’re wild,” he laughs a little, “where the fuck did I find you.”  
“Downstairs if I remember correctly.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before laying down next to him.   
You lean into him for a moment, resting your head against his shoulder. Part of you wanted him to stroke your hair and kiss your forehead, the other part of you wanted him to get up and help you collect your things to go. You lay there for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours.   
You turn to him, unsure of what to say. Although it doesn’t end up mattering, as his eyes are closed and his breathing gets deeper and deeper. You slowly get up, causing him to slump over a little bit into his pillow. You smile as you tiptoe across the room, slipping your underwear and dress back on quietly. You grab your bag and shoes before turning to look back at him one last time, asleep with his mouth slightly ajar.  
You wanted to leave your number, but chickened out at the last moment, closing his door behind you. He probably only thought of you as a one night stand, and the sinking feeling of not leaving your number was nowhere near as bad as the feeling you’d experience if you did leave it and he never called.  
He’s a freaking Avenger for god sakes, he probably doesn’t have time for things like that. You should just feel lucky to have had the time with him that you did. You close your eyes and press your back against the hallway, putting on your shoes and straightening yourself out.   
Completely unsure of how to get out of the building, you get in the closest elevator and let it take you down a few floors. You arrive at what appears to be a large living room and kitchen set up. Not what you were looking for, but a glass of water sure wouldn’t hurt.   
You walk over to the sink, filling up a cup with tap water, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You felt like you were intruding, like you were breaking into someone’s house for a drink. You slug down the water and place the cup in the sink.   
“Can I help you?” a stern voice from behind you asks.  
“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I,” you start to explain as you turn around to see Tony Stark, “I, umm, I was here with Peter and I was just getting a glass of water before going home. I’m on my way out I swear. I’m sorry if I woke you Mr. Stark, sir”  
“It’s ok, the exit is on floor B,” he says, the edge was gone from his voice, “You were here with Peter? You were here for the party?”  
“Yeah, I, umm, I work for the mountain guide company,” you felt as if you were being interrogated by the FBI even though he was casually sat at a bar stool in his bathrobe.   
“Can I call you a cab? Or give you a ride home?” he asks, noticing your slightly disheveled appearance.   
“Oh no, that’s really ok, my hotel isn’t far from here I can totally walk. I wouldn’t want to be a bother. I’ll be on my way out and you can go back to bed, sorry.”  
“I don’t do much sleeping anyways, and you are in no position to turn down a ride home from me.”  
“You really don’t have to,” you start to say, trying to make your way back to the elevator.  
“I know I don’t, come on,” he joins you in the elevator and presses a button that brings you underground to a parking garage.  
You follow him nervously up to a car that probably cost more than your parent’s hose. The door swings up above your head and you step in, placing your bag at your feet.  
“So you were hanging out with Peter,” Stark asks suggestively as he starts up the car.   
“Yeah, I, umm, I met him at the party, he’s really, really nice.”  
You tell him the directions to your hotel, only a handful of blocks from the tower. Your boss had splurged and gotten a block of hotel rooms for the event.   
“Peter is a good kid,” he starts, “I saw him introducing you to everyone at the party, he seemed to really like you.”  
“Yeah, we only just met but it was nice of him to introduce me to all his, umm, coworkers,” talking casually about your hookup to a billionaire superhero was not coming very easily to you.   
“You said you work for the mountain guide company? Why aren’t you coming to Antarctica with us?”   
“Oh, I wasn’t asked to. Stephen and Eric are going, they are really experienced, you couldn’t have hired better climbers,” you felt like you were rambling, but he was being nice and seemed to actually be listening, “I’ve never even been to Antarctica, not that it’s a super common vacation destination but...”  
“Would you want to?”  
“Oh jeez well, yeah I’m sure someday. It would be cool to explore the terrain out there,” you were unsure of what he was getting at, so you just filled the dead air with noise.  
Pulling up to the front of your hotel you quickly thanked him a few too many times and gathered your things. Hopping out onto the curb Tony called to you before closing the door,  
“It was very nice to meet you y/n, I’m sure we will be seeing a lot of each other very soon.”  
And with that he sped off down the dead New York City street, leaving you standing in front of your hotel, heart racing and slightly confused.


	3. business-casual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving Peter at Stark Tower with no way to contact you, the two of you can't keep each other off your minds. However, fate (or Tony Stark) has it that you meet again on a boat heading towards Antarctica. Mostly just expositional plot for what's to come ;)  
Warnings: mentions of alcohol I guess, NO smut for once (sorry folks)

Chapter 3:  
Weeks had passed since the night of the party, yet you still couldn’t seem to get Peter out of your head. You tried your best to push him into a deep corner of your brain, but memories of that night kept tugging at the edge of your consciousness, slipping in when your concentration faded or when you found your mind otherwise unoccupied.  
You constantly talked yourself out of thinking of him, explaining to yourself that he’s a full-time superhero and probably wouldn’t have the time or energy to see you again even if he wanted to. If he had wanted you to stay he could have asked, and you were sure he had access to technology to find you if he really wanted. So you resigned to constantly pushing him back into that corner of your brain, hoping that the memory of him would soon fizzle into nothing.  
But then again, did you really want that? There was a reason you had replayed that night over and over in your head, remembering the way he grabbed your hand, the way his eyes crinkled shut when he laughed, the way his eyes rolled back when he… Push it down, stop idealizing, and move on with your life y/n, you thought.  
Keeping yourself busy at work helped. Constantly helping prep for upcoming trips and programs, paperwork and maps to sort, gear to be ordered. You hadn’t been promoted per se, but you had definitely started taking on some more responsibility.  
“Knock knock,” your boss Stephen strolls into the back room where you found yourself surrounded by endless papers, “got a minute?”  
“For you? Not sure…,” you joke with him, swiveling around in your chair to give him your full attention. He was a good boss, treating everyone like equals rather than subordinates, and he had a sarcastic sense of humor, appreciating that you could dish it right back.  
“I’ve got some mail for you, and something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he sits down on the desk across from you.  
“Shoot,” you gesture towards him, taking the short but thick stack of mail rubber-banded together from him.  
“Well, we have been in contact with our partners over at Stark Industries,” he starts, “and in our last debrief with Mr. Stark he mentioned that there’s some room in the budget for another guide for the Antarctica trip. Now, nothing against you or your ability, but I did suggest Scott or Matt join the team, but he explained that he had met you at the party and was impressed with you. He also said something about wanting a smaller climber on the team, said there might be some tight squeezes and having you might be an asset. I told him that I had no doubt in your ability if he really wanted to hire you for the team, so, it's up to you but the plane ticket and all the paperwork is right there.”  
You sat there a little dumbfounded, not yet processing what your boss had just clearly explained. Feeling like an idiot with your mouth open like a flytrap you swivel back around and put all the paperwork into your desk.  
“Umm, yeah, wow,” you look back at him, “you’re sure that you don’t want to tell him to take someone else? Someone more experienced? I’m not really sure if I deserve this.”  
“I don’t know kid, he was pretty adamant about you coming. I would take the opportunity and run with it if I were you. It will be a great experience for someone as young as you, and even though you probably wouldn’t have been the company’s first choice I trust in your ability, you are a good worker and an even better climber.”  
You had never had a conversation this honest with Stephen, who was kind of like an older brother figure to you. Ever since moving far away from home he had kept an eye out for you both at work and in your personal life.  
“Shit, yeah I guess I can’t really say no,” you say, bringing your hand to your forehead, trying to help this all sink in.  
“Don’t act too excited,” he rolls his eyes at you and leaves you to your work.  
“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, “what the fuck.”  
You sat there in disbelief, sifting through the stack of plane tickets, boarding passes, and travel information you had just been given. When the concept of traveling to Antarctica to climb mountains and getting paid for it started to hit you, an even bigger train slammed right into your stomach, Peter.  
Fuck, you certainly couldn’t keep pushing thoughts of him away if you were going to have to see him every day for three months. But you couldn’t see him like that, he was going to be at work, doing Avenger things, superhero things, not you things.  
You convinced yourself that you probably wouldn’t even have to see him that much, you would probably be in two totally different places doing two totally different things. Is that what you wanted? Maybe? No. Definitely no. But this was work and you were just going to treat it like you would any other job. Hopefully.

* * *

  
At Stark Tower  
“I don’t know!!!” Peter groans as he flips his grilled cheese, “I’m just bad at stuff like that!”  
“Dude,” Sam replies from across the kitchen, “it’s not hard. She definitely really liked you.”  
“Yeah, we could all hear how much she really liked you that night…” Bucky teases.  
“But, like, what if she didn’t even want to give me her number though? Like what if she wanted it to be just like a one-time thing? She totally could have left it if she wanted to.”  
“You can't expect her to do all the work though, kid,” Sam tries to reason with Peter, “you have to show her you are interested, vocalize things, ask, don’t assume.”  
“You know what happens when you assume,” Bucky retorts, unable to hide the snark in his voice.  
“Yeah, yeah, an ass out of you and me, fuck off, I didn’t ask you metalman,” Peter was trying to keep up with the constant back and forth of insults and high context between Sam and Bucky that they also fired at everyone around them.  
“Ughhhh, I just liked her so much! And I never get the chance to meet girls, and she just like, fell into my lap, and then poof,” Peter raises his hands to his face in exasperation, hoping that getting this off his chest would help the heavy feeling that had been lurking there ever since he woke up to find you gone from his bed.  
“I don’t know what else to tell you, kid,” Sam tries to be empathetic without ragging on the kid too hard, “you could just ask Stark to track her down.”  
“That’s so creepy though, I don’t want her to think I’m a creep,” Peter pouts, now eating his burnt grilled cheese.  
Natasha enters the kitchen, filling up a bottle of water and leaning back onto the counter.  
“What’s he moping about now?” she asks Sam.  
“He’s pissed that he scared off that nice girl from the party.”  
“I did not-,” Peter starts, but then flops his head down to the counter, pressing his cheek against the cold marble.  
“Aw, sweetie, she didn’t leave her number?” Natasha asks, with some genuine concern, but also playing Sam and Bucky’s game of tormenting you.  
“No,” he grumbles, not lifting his head from the counter.  
“Maybe she just wanted to wait to see you again until the trip, I’m sure she’s really busy just like you are,” Nat says, now with only comfort in her voice.  
“She’s not coming, she just got an invite to the party, but she’s not coming,” Peter responds, finally peeling his cheek from the counter.  
“Not sure what she told you, but her name is on the roster of tickets. We sent over three packets of travel info to the mountain guide company, one with her name on it just the other day,” she says to a much more attentive Peter, who knew Nat has much more inside intel than he does around here.  
“Don’t fuck with me,” Peter says with an annoyed look on his face, “you’re just as bad as them now.” He gestures to Sam and Bucky who were still snickering at him, laughing at his misery.  
“Go talk to Stark if you don’t believe me, I’m sure he would looove to hear all about your girl problems.”  
Peter was used to taking jabs, being the youngest and most gullible, but he didn’t think Nat would mess with him like this. Bucky or Sam? Definitely. But Nat? She had a soft spot for him.  
Peter had been genuinely upset that you decided to slip away that night. He worried that he did or said something wrong, maybe he shouldn’t have been so forward. Or maybe he should have been more forward? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he felt like an idiot and he worried that everything Bucky and Sam said was true, that he had scared you off.  
Now he was grappling with this new information, the idea of seeing you again on the mission. What if you didn’t want to see him? He didn’t want to throw himself at you and look desperate, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you and how your hair felt tangled in his hands, how his name sounded coming from your lips.  
Later that afternoon Peter found himself pacing outside of the lab, debating whether to ask Tony about you, to ask if what Nat had told him was true. He didn’t want this to be a big joke, but he also had to know, the question had been burning his brain.  
“Hey Mr. Stark, sorry to bother you, I was just-”  
“Yes Peter, she’s coming, I sent over an extra ticket.”  
“Really? I-”  
“Nat told me you would be bugging me about this. I believe the words you’re looking for are _**Thank You**_.”  
“Umm, thank you? Thank you.”  
“I met her after she was leaving your room after the party, she seems like a good kid. I wanted another climber, someone small to squeeze through tight spaces. Plus, having a pretty girl around will keep _you_ out of _my_ hair. Now shoo.”  
Tony tried to stay stern with Peter, constantly wanting to teach him lessons, but he also wanted to make the kid happy. With all the hard work Peter had been putting in the past few months, he deserved to have a little fun, to enjoy something for once. Tony knew what it was like to get too concentrated on work, the toll being an Avenger could take, and Peter was too young to feel like that all the time.  
Shuffling out of the room with a string of mumbled “thank yous” Peter rushed back to his room at the compound, flopping back onto his bed. He didn’t know how to feel, but he knew he was excited and nervous to see you again.

* * *

  
You peer across the rows of seats on the plane, searching for a familiar face. A specific familiar face. You assumed that everyone on the mission would be flying together, but your business class tickets suggested otherwise. Stephen was scheduled to fly with Stark and the Avengers, to manage the loading and transportation of all the gear. You and Eric, the other guide, flew commercial to Argentina and would meet up with everyone at the site of the boat you would be taking down to Antarctica.  
It was an eleven-hour flight and you were quick to grow restless. In-flight movies and complimentary snacks couldn’t quiet your buzzing nerves. You needed to figure out a way to occupy your brain for the flight because thinking about Peter for eleven hours didn’t seem healthy.  
You did spend about three of those hours trying to think of what you would say to him if or when you saw him. Should you apologize? Play it cool? Run into his arms? Definitely not that last one. It was probably best to keep everything professional, treat him like you would anyone else.  
After an in-flight G and T, you managed to doze off for the next few hours of the flight, drooling onto the pullout tray. Eric shakes you awake, mocking your open-mouthed sleeping face, telling you it’s time to buckle up and get ready to land.  
You nervously start to rub the skin on the inside of your thumb, a bad habit that sometimes left you with raw and puffy skin. An outsider may have guessed that you were afraid of flying, but it was quite the opposite, you were afraid of landing.  
A private car picks you up and drives a short distance to the waterfront. It’s a private dock specifically for boats traveling long distances. You had never spent more than a few hours on a boat, and certainly never one this big. You were quickly ushered onto the top deck and then down into what looked like a conference room.  
It appeared that you two were the last to arrive, and the boat would be departing soon. Quietly placing your bags in a corner and finding a place to stand, you direct your attention to Mr. Stark who stood at the front of the room, naturally.  
“I’m sure you all want to get to your bunks, it’s been a long day of travel for everyone. I just wanted to relay some basic info from the captains before giving you all your room keys. This trip can take anywhere between 10 days and 3 weeks, all depending on the weather. There is an intercom so you know you’ll be hearing from me if we all need to congregate again, but otherwise, I suggest we take this time to prepare for the mission and rest up. Thanks, everyone.”  
There was a lot of shuffling around and you constantly felt like you were in someone’s way. Eric, Stephen, and yourself step aside into the hallway to debrief quickly on the transportation of the gear. Everything had gone as planned and you decided to meet back up in the morning.  
“Your room is down the stairs, third door on the right,” Tony says to you in passing, “should be unlocked.”  
Taking two trips down to carry your belongings, you find the door to your room cracked open.  
“Hello?” you sense a presence already in the room.  
“Oh, hey, sorry, I was just-,” Peter steps out of the bathroom that’s connected to your small room, containing two small beds and a desk.  
Your eyes grow wide, not expecting to see him so soon. The three hours of Peter-prep you had done on the plane suddenly vanished from your brain. You stand there, bags still in your grip.  
“Mr. Stark says that you and I are “young and spry” and that we don’t count as full adult people so we have to share a room,” Peter says quickly and nervously, using air quotes, “but I can totally go ask someone to switch, or I think there is a couch somewhere if-”  
“No,” you cut him off, meeting his eyes for the first time, “don’t worry about it, this is okay with me if it’s okay with you.”  
“I’m sorry if this is weird,” Peter says, surprisingly honest.  
“It doesn’t have to be,” you say, finally placing your bags down. Okay, so you guess you are deciding to play it cool, “We can just…start over?”  
“Yes. Yes ok, Um, my name is Peter Parker and I’m Spiderman,” he says, semi-jokingly, extending his hand to you.  
“And my name is Helga and I am an assassin sent here to take you out,” you make finger guns at him and attempt a bad German accent, causing you both to giggle.  
Your lame attempt at humor had somehow brought the two of you right back to the way you had been that night three months ago. It felt easy and comfortable, but you had to force yourself not to stare at him as he started unpacking his clothes, not to notice the way his arms looked in that white t-shirt…  
“I honestly think this is some kind of weird test that Mr. Stark is putting me through,” Peter turns to you, offering to help you with your bags.  
“He told me about how he drove you home after the party, after-” Peter cut himself short, “anyways, I’m glad you’re here, but I just can't help but think that Stark has some sort of sneaky ulterior motive.”  
“Damn, paranoid much?” you try to ease the tension, “Maybe he just learned that I’m the best goddamn ice climber east of the Mississippi and he wanted to hire me for my tremendous skill.”  
“Are you really?”  
“No,” you laugh, “he probably does have an ulterior motive though, and this is totally a test. We are actually plotting together against you.”  
His eyes grow wide for a second before realizing you are messing with him. He playfully hits your arm with his pillow.  
“Don’t do that! Everyone here is always fucking with me, I don’t need another bully!” he says with a laugh, hitting you with his pillow again.  
“Sorry, I'll be nice I promise,” you dramatically bat your eyelashes at him, deciding that if you couldn’t fuck him you’d just have to resort to constant humor.  
“But I’m serious, I think we should just be friends on this trip, co-workers,” you let off your chest, as much as you wanted to attack his mouth with yours, you didn’t want to jeopardize any part of this trip, any part of your job. Even though it was going to be fucking difficult sharing a room with him.  
“Yeah, yeah, professionals,” Peter nods, a noticeable disappointment flashed across his face though.  
“It’s just that…I’m getting paid to be here, and this boat isn’t huge, and I just wouldn’t want my boss, or _your_ boss to think-”  
“Yeah, no, I totally understand. I totally get you. 100% Couldn’t agree more.”  
He talks a lot when he’s nervous, and he always tries to find something to do with his hands, tug at the hem of his shirt or fix the bedsheets that were already perfectly made. A quiet settles around the two of you, a dead air making the awkwardness more and more apparent with every passing second.  
You both get your things settled in, unsure of who was going to say something first. You flop back on the bed, genuinely exhausted from the day.  
“Hey y/n?” Peter says, also laying flat on his back on the bed parallel to yours.  
“Yeah?”  
“I really _am_ glad you’re here though.”  
You close your eyes as a big smile spreads across your cheeks. This was going to be a long fucking trip.


	4. superpowers and liquid courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Y/N sneak around the boat and try to find ways to kill the time. Stumbling upon a bar, you take it upon yourself to pour the liquid courage you need to finally talk to peter about what happened that night at the party.  
Warnings: language and alcohol consumption  
A/N: can this be a slow burn even though they've already fucked???  
Also! Feel free to follow my tumblr @kiwi-bitchez, I post my fics on there as well  
More smut is coming, I promise ;)

The first handful of days on the boat generally consist of jetlag, seasickness, and mundane ways to kill the onsetting boredom. Just about everyone slept for the majority of the first day of the trip, that 11-hour flight was no joke, and segueing directly onto a boat wasn’t exactly an easy transition.

The bunks on the ship weren’t ideal, but they were nice enough. You weren’t exactly used to luxury anyways. The bedrooms could easily be compared to small dorm rooms, and the bathrooms weren’t large enough for more than one person to be seasick at a time.

Both you and Peter didn’t have too much trouble with that, as you found the constant swaying kind of comforting, and you were sure Peter was immune to motion sickness. However, everyone else wasn’t quite as adept as the two of you, making the first 48 hours generally miserable for everyone.

“I can’t stand being in here listening to Steve throw up any longer,” Peter says, sitting up in his bed and tossing a wad of paper at the back of your head.

“Hey!” you turn from your seat at the small desk where you had been trying to distract yourself with work, “watch it!”

“Can we do something, please,” Peter looks at you, making a ridiculous puppy-dog face that you knew you couldn’t say no to, “just like a walk around the ship, we can go up to the top deck, literally anything, please.”

“Ugh I guess,” you pretend to be annoyed but are actually glad to be getting out of the tiny bedroom. You hadn’t taken much time to explore around the ship, and you figured it would be beneficial considering you were going to be here for quite some time.

Following Peter, who walked incredibly fast, always slightly bouncing and skipping when he stepped, you made your way to the main room. There was a small kitchen, a few couches, and a dining table. You flop dramatically back onto one of the couches in the middle of the room, letting all your limbs hang off the sides.

“Great, now we can just listen to everyone be sick from out here,” you flop your head back to look at peter from an upside-down angle.

“At least the acoustics are better,” he quips back as he rummages through every drawer and cabinet.

“Is this really the only other room other than our sleeping quarters?” you ask, assuming he had been told more than you about the trip.

“Yeah, I think so. There are the other rooms upstairs, the conference room, and the top deck. I think Tony mentioned something about an entertainment room but he said it was closed off. This boat used to be for small private trips until they refurbished it to make the trip to Antarctica, now mostly it’s used by larger groups of scientists and stuff like that, so no real need for an entertainment room.”

“No need for an entertainment room? What, you science nerds don’t like to have fun?” You joke, having recently learned about Peter’s love for math and science, particularly chemistry.

“Not exactly anti-fun, more like anti-relaxation,” he flops beside you in a similar fashion on the couch across from yours, “I’m pretty sure Stark sealed off that conference room and is using it as a lab. Like he couldn’t just relax for a few days, that would be impossible.”

“Why aren’t you up there with him doing top-secret Avenger’s science?”

“Eh, he told me to scram when I offered to help. Sometimes he gets into the zone and refuses to let anyone help him. I kind of get it, but it means I’m stuck here, bored out of my mind.”

“Damn, sorry I’m so boring I guess,” you joke, sarcastically rolling your eyes at him.

“That is not what I-” he starts before looking over at you, realizing your tongue is stuck out at him.

“Race you to the top,” you say quickly as you take a head start out the door.

The two of you tumble down the hallway, flailing your arms and trying to knock one another over. He manages to squeak by you and scramble up the stairs to the top deck first.

“Hey that is not fair,” you yell over to him, already starting to shiver, “I don’t have radioactive blood and spider muscles or whatever it is you have.”

You join him over by the railing, looking out at the vast ocean. Although it is beautiful, the cold is unbearable and the wind is whipping your hair in every direction.

“This was a better idea in theory,” Peter turns to you, “I think I spotted Monopoly down there.”

“Okay are we five?” you joke back, but you secretly loved Monopoly, fully ready to kick Peter’s ass.

Although the two of you grew comfortable quickly, there was still a slight air of tension. There was that underlying thing that neither of you was going to bring up, but secretly wished the other would. You used humor as a coping mechanism, constantly deflecting with sarcasm and bad jokes.

It was inconvenient that the only person who really wanted to spend time with you was Peter, and you spent almost every minute of the day together. All of this would have been easier if you just had to awkwardly acknowledge him in passing, but no, you were literally sleeping less than 10 feet apart.

You tried to just see him as a friend, someone you could be goofy and dick around with. You think he is trying to see you the same way too. You try your best to keep physical contact out of the picture, but he can’t help but to grab your hand to drag you off somewhere, or for you to ruffle his hair after he says something stupid.

There was that inherent chemistry between the two of you, and if you hadn’t known better you could have ignored it, but that was the problem, you did know better. You both knew how you had fucked each other’s brains out that night, how the sexual interest and intense attraction truly was there and wasn’t just something you were imagining. But still, you resign to scrunching your nose at him and cracking bad jokes over board games to repress any feelings of wanting him on top of you.

You had found a small stack of board games and would cycle through them and play with anyone who was willing to sit with you and Peter for that long. Monopoly, Risk, and Scrabble. Certain members of the team would come in for certain games, some were better competitors than others. But that’s how the two of you mutually decided to pass the time. When you weren’t stewing over maps and images of cliff faces, you would go down to the common room with Peter and wait around until you had a large enough party to play. A few days passed by this way and you didn’t mind, it also gave you the chance to spend some time with the other members of the team, although they never became less intimidating.

You sat at the tiny wooden desk, you ass getting sore from sitting on the hard, wooden chair. You had been shuffling through papers, not really concentrating on anything in particular, when you felt Peter enter the room. You had headphones on and had the music cranked up, but you could always feel when he entered the room, despite how light on his feet he was.

You turn around, surprised to not see him there. But before you can fully turn back around to the desk your body instinctively recoils at Peter hanging upside down dangling over the wooden surface. You gasp as you start to fall back, chair slipping out underneath you. He shoots out a web from god knows where and catches the chair inches before it hits the ground.

You clutch your chest, slightly worried that cardiac arrest might be in your near future. Before you can yell at him, or even get up, he is toppled over on the desk cracking up. He lowers you slowly, so you are now flat on your back. He continues to hysterically laugh and you can’t help but join him.

“What the fuck man!” you finally say in between giggles.

“I’m sorry I-” Peter, still gasping for air in between bellows, “I just wanted to scare you, I didn’t realize you would-” still laughing.

“You are an asshole,” you say, finally getting up, you smack him off your desk and start to reorganize your papers.

“You can’t be mad at me, that was so funny,” Peter, finally upright, moves across the room.

“You bet your ass I will be getting you back though,” you point your finger sternly at him, although you were unsure how you could top hanging from the ceiling, “If you are here to ask me to play scrabble with you, I may explode.”

“No, no, I need a solid 12-hour break from board games before I kick your ass at Monopoly again,” he never stops rubbing it in, “I was just wondering if you wanted to look around for something to eat for dinner.”

You smooth out your hair and clothes to join him in the hallway, quickly entering the somewhat crowded main room. The others were eating as well, as everyone had become accustomed to the motion of the ocean and had started taking Dramamine. The two of you conclude on a box of mac and cheese, as long as Peter did all the work. He owed you at least that considering your heart stopped for a solid 15 after that stunt he pulled.

Everyone finishes their meals and clears out of the room, heading back to their respective rooms, leaving you and Peter to discuss the mechanics of eating mac and cheese with a spork.

“Make sure to wrap it before you tap it, kids,” Sam nudges Peter on the shoulder as he exited the room.

“Oh my god do they all know about that?” you ask.

“Kind of,” Peter’s face grew red, “they all really like you, I swear.”

“He wouldn’t shut up about you for weeks!” Sam yells from the hallway, clearly still within earshot of you.

You threw your hands over your face in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe that all the freaking Avengers knew about your sex life. You wondered how much Peter had told them, but didn’t dare ask. You just hoped they all knew that you were professional and hadn’t just weaseled your way onto this trip because you had slept with Spiderman, although that technically was the case.

“I am painfully bored,” you admit, bringing your dishes to the sink, “is there really nothing else to do other than Monopoly and sleep?”

“I mean I can think of a few things…” Peter jokes, although you hope deep down that he isn’t.

“Hey, quit it with the flirting,” you join him on the couch, “you made me dinner and now you’re making passes at me, don’t break the rules.”

“But rules are so boooooring, and this boat is soooo booooring,” he slumps into your lap, making those puppy dog eyes at you again.

“Okay then, lets… do something exciting then,” you suggest, getting up and waltzing across the room.

“What could possibly be exciting?”

“If I remember your top-secret Avengers info correctly, there is a whole game room just waiting to be broken into.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” Peter questions, “hey, and isn’t your whole deal that you want to be respectful and professional and everything?”

Although he makes a fair point, everyone is in bed at this point and your boredom was killing your brain cells. You both could use something to occupy your minds as this boat slowly trudges into colder and colder territory.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you start, “I didn’t realize you were bitten by a radioactive scardey cat.”

He rolls his eyes at you and follows you out into the hallway and down the stairs.

“Fine, but_ I_ am not taking the blame for this if we get in trouble.”

“Fine, fine, it was all my idea, you can even rat me out.”

You make your way down to the bottom floor, where neither of you had yet been. You find the door at the end of the hallway and quietly jiggle the door handle open.

“Dude, your secret intel was all lies,” you whisper, “the door wasn’t even locked.”

You slip your way into the door and feel around for a light switch. Although it was nowhere near as exciting as you would have hoped, it was still something. The lights flicker on and reveal a mostly empty ballroom, a small one albeit, a few tables, couches, and a bar. It wasn’t much different from the room upstairs except the one thing that caught your eye, _the bar._

“Come on Peter, it will be fun,” you start, already knowing he will protest your devilish ideas, “plus, I bet no one can even hear us down here.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to take anything that doesn’t belong to me.”

“If that’s your concern I have like twenty bucks in cash upstairs that I will gladly leave in the place of whichever one of these fine bottles we choose to take.”

“I _suppose_,” you notice him coming around to the idea, “but we have to be quiet, I don’t want to disrupt anyone’s sleep.”

“Of course, of course,” you were now behind the bar, eyeing your selections, “pick your poison, Parker.”

You grab a bottle and take a seat on one of the couches, Peter sits down across from you.

“Are we friends?” you ask Peter, taking a swig right from the bottle and passing it over to him.

“Um, I guess so? Why?” Peter takes a sip much more easily than you had expected.

“I just feel like I don’t know anything about you. Friends know things about each other.”

“You know that I’m Spiderman, most people don’t know that about me.”

“I guess,” you take the bottle back from him, “but we have spent every day together for almost a week now, and I don’t really know anything about you. Your name is Peter Parker, you have magic spider monkey powers, you have a big dick...”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” he says, hand out asking for the bottle again.

“Hmm?” you finish your sip and hand the liquor over.

“My middle name is Benjamin, that’s something you don’t know about me.”

“That’s so cute,” the liquor hitting you already, “that suits you so well.”

“Thanks, it was my Uncle’s name,” Peter took a long sip, “he, um, he died when I was in high school.”

“Oh,” you didn’t expect this conversation to get so serious so quickly, “were you two close?’

“Yeah, my parents are dead, so he and my Aunt May were my guardians. May is great, she’s like the best person ever, love her with my whole heart. But Uncle Ben died and it was pretty hard on us, and I became Spiderman, and… it was all kind of a mess, to be honest.”

“I’m- I’m really sorry to hear that,” you look down, unsure of how to continue.

“Ok now you go,” he says, handing you the bottle.

“Huh?” you were still trying to process everything he had just thrown out there.

“Our drinking game, you say something the other person doesn’t know about you and also you drink.”

“That just sounds like a conversation to me.”

“Ok, then you come up with something!”

“No, no, I like it,” you laugh, the alcohol steadily setting into your bloodstream, “I just don’t really have any exciting secrets like dead parents or superpowers though.”

“That’s ok, just tell me your favorite ice cream flavor or something. You are right, we barely know anything about each other.”

“Coffee, but coffee mixed with cookies and cream, so like the coffee ice cream has little bits of cookie mixed in it. What’s yours?”

“Ben and Jerry's.”

“That’s not a flavor, that’s a brand.”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s my answer. This is my game, so I say Ben and Jerry's.”

The two of you had somehow migrated from the couches over to the large wooden dance floor, laying with arms and legs starfished out around you. You went back and forth, telling stupid facts about yourselves, whoever wasn’t talking was drinking. You flip over onto your stomachs and rest your head on your arms, crossed in front of you. You were staring directly into Peter’s eyes.

Normally being this close to him would make you a blend of anxious and horny and giddy. However, the bottle was well over half gone at this point. The two of you had been talking for hours, rolling around on the hard floor and laughing at each other’s stories.

“Have you ever been in love?” you ask, the thought escaping your mouth before it could be filtered through your brain.

“Damn,” Peter, equally as drunk as you, responds, “that’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

“Okay mister shares-a-room-with-me-and-also-let-me-suck-his-dick-in-a-spare-room-at-a-work-function Parker.”

“Hey,” he sits up, struggling a little bit, “I thought we were secretly silently agreeing _not_ to bring that up.”

“Ban lifted,” you sit up too, “we are playing the reveal-your-secrets drinking game that YOU made up.”

“It’s called “get to know your roommate better through discussion and drink” and it’s _fun_,” he says defensively, “and no, I was a loser in high school and now I spend my weekends lurking around in alleyways waiting for people to punch, so no, never been in love.”

“You lurk in alleyways? Doesn’t really sound very superhero esque to me,” you make fun of him.

“I’ve been to space, so, suck on that.”

“Can I see it?”

Peter gives you a funny look, not entirely sure what you’re getting at.

“Your suit you dummy, show me your super suit. Show me Spiderman!”

“I don’t know y/n, I’m kind of drunk and I don’t want to wake anyone up.”

“What? Spiderman can’t be quiet? Please, Peter, pleeeasssee.”

“Ok fine but I’m taking that twenty from your wallet to leave at the bar.”

“Fine!” you lay back on the ground, closing your eyes that felt very heavy, “I’ll be here waiting for you Spideyyy.”

Peter takes a while, slowly making his way up the stairs to your shared room. You patiently wait for him, pacing around the entertainment room taking long gliding steps, twirling around with your arms spread out.

“Okay, I have a few different ones with me, but this one is the coolest for sure,” Peter starts talking to you before he is even all the way down the stairs, taking them three at a time. You stare at him with bulging eyes, mouth dropping slightly agape.

“What? Don’t look at me like that you’re making me self-conscious,” he steps into the room, Spider-suit clinging tightly to his body.

“How?” you walk up to him, placing a hand on the shiny material, surprised to find it was cold and metallic to the touch, “are you so perfect?”

“Excuse me?” Peter stumbles a little bit.

“Look at you! You’re freaking amazing!” you fall back onto the old leather couch, making your landing dramatic, as if he had blown you away.

“Shut up, don’t make fun of me,” Peter shies away, “I’m not even gonna put the mask on now.”

“I’m not making fun of you! Do something super, please?? Will you??”

He sighs, exasperated, and drunk, and shoots a web across the room, swinging his body along with it. He wasn’t as graceful as he usually was, and had never tried using his suit while intoxicated, so this was all new.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, causing Peter to whip around and dramatically motion for you to be quiet, “fuck, sorry. Holy shit!” you whisper.

“Can I take it off? I’m getting sweaty,” he drops his shoulders and mopes.

“I suppose…” you shuffle back over to the couch, “but know I like you much more in the sexy superhero outfit than those sweats you’ve been rocking.”

“Don’t hate on the joggers,” he was slipping back into them, you hadn’t even noticed that he had taken the spider suit off, it had happened so fast. You found yourself staring at his bare chest, unable to control your drunk expression of lust.

“Are we still playing the roommate honesty game?” you ask, desperately trying to focus your eyes on something other than Peter getting dressed.

“Yes,” he grabs the bottle over from where you had left it on the table, “and it’s my turn to ask.”

“Okay shoot spider-boy.”

He takes a long sip before sitting across from you, looking at you intently. “You lifted the ban, so I get to ask, and I’m just drunk enough to not give a fuck, so I have to do it.”

“Okay?” unsure of where he was going with this.

“Why,” he pauses before taking another quick sip, “why did you leave that night? Why didn’t you leave your number?”

It took you a second, and you sat there, slightly uncomfortable. You weren’t sure how to start, opening your mouth before words had formed in your brain.

“I’m sorry,” he cuts you off before you can even speak, “You don’t have to answer that, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“No, its ok,” you felt weirdly sober suddenly, despite not being able to feel your hands or feet or cheeks, “I- I just didn’t really know what I was doing. I had never really slept with someone I didn’t know like that, and I wasn’t sure what the rules were, what the protocol was.”

“I’m not good at that stuff either,” he avoided eye contact with you, “I probably just should have asked you for it.”

“I just, I didn’t want to leave it and then have you never call. I figured you were so busy being an Avenger, and you probably get girls all the time. I just jumped to the conclusion that it all meant a lot more to me than it did to you,” you look up at him, face previously buried in your hands.

“It meant something to me,” he says, “are you kidding, how could it not have? Did you hear Sam earlier? All I could talk about for weeks was how pissed I was that I didn’t ask you for your number, that I let you slip away.”

“I’m sorry for instilling the secret ban on talking about it,” you apologize to him, “and I’m sorry I left that night, I was just nervous. You make me nervous.”

“I am so _un_-intimidating. Thor is here, Captain America is here, _they_ are intimidating. I’m like a 7 on a good day and all I can cook is boxed mac and cheese. Why do _I_ make _you_ nervous?”

“First off, shut up, you’re an 11 every day and you know it, you might be a secret genius, and you have freaking _superpowers, _plus you lowkey got me this job so I owe a lot to you.”

“I’m sorry if things have been weird or tense or whatever,” his cheeks turning redder than they had previously been.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a weird situation that neither one of us could have known about. And _I’m _the one who should be sorry if things are weird or tense.”

Peter gets up and joins you on the couch, resting his head on your shoulder. You still felt very nervous, but in a new way. You just want to lay there and hold him, let him know that you like him, that you really_ really_ like him.

“Do you think we could make it less weird?” your mouth does that thing again, saying ideas before your brain can properly filter them, “Do you think if we just kissed once it would diffuse the tension?”

You weren’t sure if this was actually a good idea, or if your brain was just trying to find a rational way to bring up to Peter how you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. You turned to him, alcohol helping with the typical nervousness and awkwardness that this situation would typically present.

“You just have to promise me,” he says, bringing one of his strong hands to cup your cheek.

“Promise you what?”

“Promise me that you’ll stop.”

“Stop?”

“Yeah, stop. Stop being pretty. Stop being funny. Stop being smart and witty and better than me at board games. Stop talking in your sleep and leaving your towel on your head for hours after you’ve gotten out of the shower. Stop doing all those things that are making this trip so hard for me. You have to promise me that you’ll stop.”

“If I promise, then you’ll kiss me?” you whisper, leaning into the hand that was pressed against your skin. He nods at you, tucking his lower lip between his teeth.

“Okay, then I promise. I’ll be mean and horrible to you for the rest of the trip. I’ll be nasty and unlikeable, and I’ll tell even more jokes than I already do, and now you won’t even have to pretend to laugh.”

He scrunches his nose at you, grinning a familiar smile as he leaned into you.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

You part your lips slightly, his mouth hovering over yours as you take a sharp breath inward, preparing yourself. His hand snakes from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his and holding your head steadily, not wanting to feel your lips part from his. You latch onto his lower lip, hands coming up instinctively to cup his face.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you pull his face closer to yours. His hand on the base of your neck and your hands on his face acted as a human vice grip, locking your faces together as you felt his lips interlock with yours. You tilt your head, allowing his tongue to slip into your ready mouth.

The kiss wasn’t sexual or heated, the way a tension diffusing kiss was supposed to be, it was slow, earnest, warm.

You were drunk, but you could feel every shift and movement in his body, every maneuver of his hand. He wasn’t kissing you the way a drunk boy should kiss you, he kissed you as if you had just come home from the airport, like you just received good news, like you had known each other for much longer than this Antarctica trip.

You were the one to pull away, immediately regretting it the moment you did. You stared at him with sad eyes, not knowing what would happen next. He just stared back, not wanting to register that the kiss was over.

Before he could say anything or look at you in a way that made _you _feel the need to say something, you turned around, back facing him and laid back. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. Taking his hand and weaving his long fingers between yours, you tell him

“I hate you,” staying true to your promise. You close your eyes and let your body fully relax into his.

“I hate you more,” he kisses the top of your head, burying his face in your hair, closing his eyes too.


	5. Humid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Peter finally decide to clear the air.   
Warning: SMUT

You struggle to open your eyes through crusted shut eyelids, head pounding and mouth tasting bitterly of the night before. You peel your body from the leather couch, skin indented with the seams that had pressed against your face. You rub your eyes and look around, not seeing Peter anywhere. This was probably for the best.

You assume that you had fallen asleep at some point last night and he was too nice to wake you up. Laying back down, you bury yourself into your t-shirt and find that it smells like him. You let yourself wonder for a second if he had fallen asleep on the couch too, spending the night pressed against you, face in your hair. No, you wouldn’t let yourself fabricate happy memories of something that probably didn’t happen, he was most likely upstairs, not even remembering the night before.

You rub the sleep from your eyes and roll your shoulders back, spine and shoulders cracking. It must be well into the morning, as you can hear heavy footsteps shuffling all around the floor above you. Sneaking up the stairs you hope that no one notices you emerging from the bottom floor, where your room _wasn’t._

“Hey y/n, I’m making pancakes!” Peter hollers to you from down the hall, “if you need some substance to absorb all that hangover.”

Fuck, come on Peter, no one was supposed to know that you two had snuck into the bar. Cover blown. Whatever, pancakes sounded both amazing and nauseating and you didn’t have the mental capacity to be annoyed with him.

You drag your feet into the living room, smelling syrup from the kitchen. There were some other bodies scattered around, but you didn’t bother to crane your neck around to see who was who. Slumping yourself at one of the bar stools you lay your head on the cold linoleum, which felt surprisingly nice on your hot cheek.

A hand comes down to place three white pills in front of your closed eyes, pushing them towards your face.

“Ibuprofen. You look like you need it,” Bucky chuckles to himself, also pushing a hot cup of coffee across the bar. You give him a slightly confused look, but then take the pills and coffee with no questions.

“Oh, you kids thought we didn’t know about the secret bar?” Sam says, poking fun at you, “took you two long enough to find it.”

You can only grumble into your arms and take a long sip from the steaming cup, shooting a look over to him that said: “I’m not dealing with this right now.” Peter, seemingly unaffected by the half bottle he had downed last night, hands you a plate and sits a few seats down from you.

The pancakes settled strangely in your stomach, but it felt good to fill yourself with something other than regret and liquor. The coffee and ibuprofen certainly helped too. What wasn’t helping was the sharp memory of kissing Peter and the awkward air that now settled around the two of you.

“You’re welcome,” Peter says sarcastically from down the table, “finally decided you’re gonna be mean to me?”

The comment would have just seemed like your typical banter to anyone listening, but you both knew exactly what he meant. Your promise from the previous night, that you would stop being friends after the kiss.

You put a piece of pancake on your fork and catapult it over towards him, launching it at his head. He quickly turns and catches it in his mouth, making it look effortless.

“You’re gonna have to try _much_ harder than that y/n.”

You down the rest of your coffee and clear your dishes, wanting to escape this room full of noise. You squeeze Peter’s shoulder on your way out, silently thanking him for making you breakfast. Was that the right thing to do? Were you actually supposed to ignore him for the rest of the trip? What from last night was just drunken stupidity? and what had actually held some truth to it?

“Trouble in paradise?” Bucky quips at Peter, noticing the tension between you, “things not going well with the new girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend and she’s here for work,” Peter grumbles, not bothering to make eye contact.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky and Sam both scoff.

You tuck yourself into your small bed, letting yourself curl up in the blankets as much as physically possible. You put every ounce of mental energy into repressing the night before, not wanting to remember how nice it felt to dance around and be goofy with Peter, how nice it felt to be held by him.

You hear the door creak open, so you bury your face deeper into your pillow, hoping he would just think you were asleep. He sits back onto his bed, staying silent for a minute or two.

“Hey, you asleep?” He asks, just above a whisper.

“No,” you say, a little louder so he will hear through the layers of blanket covering your head.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he was still speaking so quietly, “we can just forget the whole thing if you want.” You groan as you sit up, letting the cocoon of blankets fall around your waist.

“I’m the one who peer pressured you into drinking with me so don’t even start to apologize,” you respond, truly feeling responsible for whatever energy was now between you, “and I remember lifting the ban of not talking about things we should probably talk about, so no forgetting necessary.”

“If it’s a new rule for us to talk about the things we probably don’t want to, I want you to know that I don’t regret kissing you,” he says, voice weirdly steady, looking directly at you.

“Yeah, me either,” you were much less direct, pulling the blankets up over yourself to hide from him.

“And I think you made some fair points,” he continues on, voice wavering a little, “despite the drunkenness.”

“Hmm?” you ask completely nonverbally.

“About the kiss, I think you made a fair argument,” he was starting to sound a little nervous, “I think there is some tension between us and I think it could be cleared up if we did something about it.” He said this almost as if it were a question, voice getting higher as the statement progressed, not sure if he wanted to hear your reaction, “ya know, _sexual tension_.”

“Uh-huh??” You continue to respond with noises until he just tells you what he wants, giving him a skeptical look, even though you knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Obviously I respect you, like so freaking much, and I don’t want you to think I don’t understand that you are here for work, and why you don’t want to be with me,” he starts, his voice speeding up with increasing anxiety, “but if I could drop the act for just a minute, if I can stop pretending that I don’t like you, stop pretending that we are just pals or roommates or co-workers or whatever, I think it could help…you know.”

You raise your head from your protective blanket and give him an understanding look, but still not saying anything.

“I don’t really know where I’m going with this,” he continues to ramble, not wanting a moment of uncomfortable silence, “but I’m just saying that last night is not making it easy for me, and I want you to know that I wasn’t just drunk, I meant it when I told you I like you a lot. And I don’t know how you feel, but I wanted to tell you, and I’m sorry if this is ruining everything.”

You can’t help but smile at the way he talks with his hands, the way his voice gets when he is being so honest, the way he is looking at you. You knew that you needed to stop being so guarded, needed to stop responding to every genuine emotion with sarcasm and cynicism.

“I wouldn’t be against,” you speak slowly, trying to choose your words carefully, “trying to clear the air.”

You stare into his eyes, not wanting to know what he was seeing in your bloodshot ones. He gives you a small smile, hoping that you meant what he thought you did. You still stood by what you originally said, this wasn’t a vacation, but you couldn’t help that your attraction to him was starting to bubble over, incapable of staying bottled inside you.

“Just once. One time to get rid of the sexual tension, and then we can go back to just being pals or roommates or _whatever_. Just once to clear the air, and that’s it,” you rationalize, hoping that you were on the same page as him, that this is what he wanted too.

“Peter! Meeting in 10!” someone yells from down the hall, “Conference room!”

“I, uh- I’m gonna go,” he awkwardly shuffles across the room, things between you two still very much up in the air.

You crawl back into your cave of blankets, the safety of silence and sleep quickly washing over you. This wasn’t an easy thing for you to think about, so you let your hungover brain shut down, let your heart rest.

It could have been minutes or hours, but you were still alone in your small room when you finally woke up. Quickly chugging some water, you decide that a shower is your agenda. Wanting to wash off whatever it was that you were feeling. Were you confused? Desperate? Just horny? Completely unsure. A hot shower is always the answer.

Feeling marginally better after your nap, you force yourself up and into the bathroom, letting the steam cloud around you. Taking as long as the hot water would allow, you let your body relax fully as you ran the soapy loofah over your limbs again and again. You decided that you would just deal with things as they were presented to you.

You weren’t going to make any premeditated decisions, you were just going to let yourself decide what to do in the moment. Heart over head. It was unlike you, but your head couldn’t take anymore, and your heart was bursting with decisions to make.

You step out of the steamy bathroom into your cold bedroom, the sudden contrast making your skin crawl. Towel still wrapped loosely over your wet body, you hadn’t realized that Peter was in the room. Your head jerks up the moment you notice him, considering turning back around and retreating into the bathroom again.

“Hi,” he says, trying to look at your face and not your dripping wet body, feeling stupid that he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“Hi,” you say back, deciding it was too late to scurry away. Time to face the wind, time to put your anxious brain in the back seat.

“You can break it,” he says to you, standing directly across the room from you, “the promise. I want you to break it.”

In a strange moment of confidence, the moment you let your heart decide without your brain, you drop your towel. Was the door even closed? Was this even what he had been alluding to? Head knows these kinds of things, but heart doesn’t. Heart was in control and did not give a single fuck.

The single second it took for Peter to register what you had done felt like an eternity to you, your head slipping into the driver’s seat for a millisecond, letting you worry. But before you could slam on the breaks and cover yourself up, play it off as an accident, he had you pinned against the wooden wall behind you, hands gripping your flesh, searing into your wet skin.

“Tell me,” his mouth impossibly close to yours, “tell me that you want this. I need you to give me permission, because I want you so bad, so fucking bad, and I need your permission.”

Although his sentiment was so polite, his voice had changed, it was deep, guttural, sexy. You wanted him to boss you around in that voice, tell you what to do, put you in your place. Your lips part to respond, an airy moan escaping as his grip tightens on you.

“Please, Peter, I need you so badly,” you let out the phrase that had been on a loop in your head since the moment you stepped foot onto the boat.

More confidence enters your voice as you fully get a grasp on the current situation, “You have permission,” you lick your lips, “I’m yours.”

“Only once,” he groans into your neck, “we can do this once and then everything will be fine.”

“And then things will just go right back to normal,” you say, holding back moans as his clothed body pressed into your completely naked one. You both knew by the way his hands roamed up from your hips up to your face, feeling up your body on the way, that things would never be normal between you.

One of his hands pressed into your cheek, angling your face perfectly with his, the other tensely sitting at the base of your neck, thumb gliding dangerously over the front of your throat. How do you tell him that you need him to fuck you senseless, that he has full permission to completely destroy you? Your head would think, but your heart can only act.

Arching your back into him, rolling your body against his, you finally allow your lips to meet. His tongue immediately slips between your lips, not wasting a second before tasting you. Taken aback by his aggression, you were a little surprised, but you liked it. You really liked it.

He was showing you how much he truly wanted you, hands holding you tightly, guiding your head into the heavy kiss. Without thinking you press your neck forward, pushing into the hand that steadily gripped at the dip of your shoulder.

He tentatively moves it up, not quite choking you, but placing it where your jaw starts, taking much more control over you.

“Fuck y/n,” he groans into your mouth, barely giving you a chance to breathe, “you have no fucking idea all the things I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Show me,” you place a light kiss to the puffy surface of his lips, “I want you to show me everything.”

Without a second of hesitation he grabs the backs of your thighs and raises you upward, pressing your body against the wall, making your legs wrap tightly around his waist as he supports you from underneath.

Before you could question how he picked you up with such ease, how he could support your full body weight and still be massaging the backs of your thighs with his strong fingers, you found your mouth pressed openly to his once again. Your hands run through his hair, bunching up the curls that fall at the nape of his neck.

He drags his mouth from yours over to your jawline, running his tongue up, finding that perfect spot right between your jaw and your ear. He kisses your face gently first, but quickly starts sucking on your sweet spot, unable to hold himself back. You start to feel a pleasurable tightness swell in your lower stomach, lurching your hips forward to grind into Peter. Your legs still wrapped around his waist, pussy making contact with a stripe of his skin where his shirt had pushed up against his torso.

Grinding into him, you pull a little on his hair telling him you wanted more, you _needed _more. His hands slowly progress from your thighs to your ass, cupping your cheeks, giving them a hard squeeze. Kissing your open mouth again, he carefully starts walking towards the bed with you still tangled around him. He lays you down on the small bed, not aggressively but with some force, pressing your body deep into the mattress.

Finally detaching your fists from his hair, you hastily try to take his shirt off, wanting to feel his chest pressed up against yours. You push it up most of the way, and he stops kissing you for only a moment to pull it over his head, sitting up on his knees for a second to do so. He looks down at you, body open and ready for him, mouth open and missing the feeling of his tongue already.

Slowly he runs a finger up your slit, collecting your wetness. He draws a few light circles around your clit, causing you to buckle forward, wanting him to touch you more. He easily dips a finger inside, but then pulls it out completely, causing you to whine under your breath.

“Every day,” he brings his fingers up to his mouth, “for the past three months, I have thought about you like this. Under me, wet for me, waiting for me to make you come. Every single fucking day. I haven’t gotten off to anything other than thinking about you.” He sucks the wetness off his finger, causing your eyes to flutter back into your head.

He brings his fingers to your mouth and you open up and take two of them between your lips, running your tongue across the tough pads of his fingers. He certainly didn’t need any extra help to slip them inside of you, the flood between your legs was enough, but he loved seeing you like this, just as needy for him as he was for you.

Pulling his fingers out of your mouth he drags them down your body, stopping to rub your warm saliva across your nipples, giving one a pinch. Dipping his fingers back inside of you, curling them tightly upwards causes you to writhe underneath him. He hunches over you, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, rolling it slightly between his teeth before licking a wide stripe across it.

You laid there in absolute disbelief. Just this morning you were peeling your hungover body off the couch, wishing Peter was still there next to you, and now you had him. It was hard to connect that the person on top of you, completely ravishing your body with his hands, with his mouth, soon with his… You could not believe this was the same Peter that you had played a hundred games of scrabble with, the same Peter you joked with and ate boxed mac and cheese with, the same goofy person who you were trying so desperately to only think of as a friend. The way his eyes flickered up to met yours as he dragged his tongue down your stomach, moving painfully slowly down to where his fingers met your center, it was impossible you would ever think of him as a friend ever again.

He connects his tongue with your warm folds, matching the slow torturous pace of his fingers. Although he was making you feel a certain pleasure that no one had ever given to you so well, not even yourself, you needed more of him. His erection pressing through his pants onto your lower leg was screaming out to you, and you couldn’t lay still any longer. You wanted to feel him in you, in your hand, mouth, _anything._

“Peter, fuck, Peter I need to feel you, _please_,” you say through heavy breaths.

He doesn’t want to stop touching you, doesn’t want to stop tasting you, but he wanted to give you everything you wanted, so he could only pull back and wait for your next move. You were quick to get on your knees, matching his position. Taking off his belt and feverishly pushing his pants and boxers down, you watch as his cock springs free. Was it bigger than you remembered? Or are you in some sort of fucked out bliss that is causing your brain to only focus on him _him_ **_him_**.

He rolls over onto his back so he can kick off his pants, finally catch up to your nakedness. He knows you want him to fuck you, to pound into you as soon as your bodies connect, but he wanted more. You start to move to sit on his hard cock, wanting to fill the space inside of you that needed him so badly, but he cuts you off, grabbing your thigh.

“Not yet,” he pulls your thighs up his torso, muscles rippling underneath your soft skin, “I’m not done with you.”

You look down, your pussy hovering over his parted lips. Knowing where this was going you take a second to flip yourself around, facing the rest of him rather than the headboard. He wraps his arms firmly around your legs, lowering you down onto his tongue, ready to lap you up. You unintentionally grind down on him, loving the sensation of his tongue fucking inside you. Needing to occupy your hands that were currently grasping at the thin sheets, you slowly lean yourself forward, not wanting to compromise your position on his face, to grab his dick that was already leaking precum for you.

You take his base in your hand and run your tongue in circles over his head, delicately licking up the clear liquid that had gathered there. You feel him moan as you suck further down onto him, making your hips grind down into his mouth again, eliciting another moan. Continuing your long slow licks up his shaft, deciding to tease him the way he had been teasing you, you start to feel the familiar tense curling deep in you, knowing you would spill over soon enough.

You wanted to keep sucking him off, reciprocate the pleasure he was giving you, but you couldn’t control the tightening in your thighs that caused you to sit up, balancing your hands on his toned chest. Pulling your hips even closer to his face, Peter knew you were close by the sounds you were making and the way your hips were rolling in small circles above him. With a sharp intake of air, you feel your orgasm start, thighs clamping down on either side of his head.

Moaning his name out over and over you collapse onto your forearms and rock back onto him. He doesn’t let up as your orgasm peaks, digging his tongue deeper into you as he guides your hips with his hands, thumbs pressed firmly into your ass. You are panting, desperately needing air to fuel the breathy moans that he’s causing. You want to pull away, your clit incredibly sensitive, but can’t move your jelly legs from his iron grasp.

“Fuck, Peter I-” you start, but can’t choke out the words as he attaches his mouth to your clit once more, sucking and licking up your sensitivity. He continues to let out deep, gravely moans into you. The overflowing feeling of pleasure from your first orgasm mixed with the rapid building of this one was too much, but you loved the feeling too much to tell him to stop. You wanted to give him everything you had.

“Peter, I-” You start again, using all the air in your chest to push the words out, “I’m gonna come again, and I- and I need you to fuck me, Peter, please.”

In a swift motion, he pushes your hips forward and slips out from underneath you, one hand staying firmly gripped to your hip and the other snaking around to rub your clit, not wanting you to go a second without contact. He takes a second to position himself behind you, rubbing his length against your glimmering opening.

“Y/n, can I-” he asks, wanting to hear you give him permission.

“Please, please, I need you to fuck me Peter, I’m gonna come again.” Your face was pressed into the mattress, breathing becoming more and more rapid, hips positioned up in the air behind you lined up with him.

He pushed his tip into you slowly, but before he could move the rest of himself into you, you rock your hips back, fucking yourself onto him.

He moans your name, relishing the feeling of being inside you after all this time. Once the initial shock has worn off, he remembers to continue touching you, wanting to feel you come around him. He meets your pace, thrusting into you as you continue to roll your hips back onto him. Arms stretched out over your head, you bite down on some bunched-up folds of bedsheet, not wanting everyone to hear you scream out as your second orgasm hit.

You moan into the fabric, but soon feel Peter’s hand wrap around your hair and pull backward, jerking your face up towards him.

“I want to hear you,” he whispers before taking your earlobe into his mouth and licking slowly, biting down a little.

The feeling of his tongue against your ear, hand pulling your hair, and fingers rubbing your clit push you over the edge, your orgasm washes over you, barely having ended the first one. You don’t even think to stay quiet anymore, letting all sorts of noises escape you as he pulls your hair harder, fucking himself into you harder, rubbing your clit harder.

You feel a gush of pure physical bliss wash over you, wetness spilling from you, dripping down your thighs. Peter lets go of your hair and you collapse back down onto the mattress, still rocking your hips into him, riding out the last moments of your peak. Peter grabbed your hips, wringing your body out of every ounce of pleasure he could. He tucks your legs together, fully on top of you now. He fucks into you slowly, knowing you were catching your breath, feeling the warmth and wetness from your high.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he brushes your hair out of your face, twisting your head around to kiss him. His statement was quite nice but came out so filthy given your present activity.

“Fuck, Peter, you make me feel so fucking good,” swollen lips connecting with his again as he continued to push into you deeply, hitting a new spot within you. You squeeze your thighs together, tightening your entrance for him.

The new sensation starts to push him over the edge, fucking you faster as you lift your hips for him. He rubs his hand over your ass, smoothing the skin before giving it a harsh slap. You whimper out his name, begging him to do it again. He smacks the same side, deepening the blotchy red mark.

You feel his hips start to push further into yours, telling you he was close. Tightening your thighs and angling your hips to the perfect spot you wait for his high to hit. With a final slap to your ass, grabbing the flesh before the spank had even registered you, he used his grip on you to fuck himself into you, his breathing getting heavy and uneven.

You feel him quiver behind you, body shaking slightly. You lift your ass even higher, giving him a place to spill himself onto you. You feel the sticky hot fluid land on your back, causing you to arch a little more for him. He rubs his cock against your red ass, his tip rubbing his come into circles on your skin.

You let your hips down, letting your body go completely limp on the bed. You hear his breathing steady, and he lays down next to you. You give him a nudge with your elbow, gesturing to all the come on your back, silently asking him to get you a towel.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he scrambles up and grabs a hand towel from the bathroom, wetting it a little in the sink and wiping down your back with the warm water.

“Thank you,” you were thanking him for more than cleaning you up, but you weren’t sure if he knew that.

“So that’s it?” He asks, wondering if he should get dressed or kiss you, unsure of what to do next.

“Well…” you start, flipping over onto your back, “is it gone?”

“Hmm?” He sits on the bed next to you.

“The sexual tension, is it gone? Wasn’t that the goal? Fuck once and clear the air?”

“No…it’s definitely not gone,” Peter’s voice was tentative, unsure where you were going with all of this.

“Okay, so we have to do it again,” you state plainly, “I need you to keep fucking me until it’s gone.”

“Y/n,” his voice growing deeper, “don’t say that unless you mean it.”

You pull his hand and place it on your cheek, his thumb dragging over your lower lip in the process. You lean your head against him, twisting your body to get closer to his. Looking up to him with a pout and big eyes, you search for the right thing to say, hoping he will speak first.

“If you are going to say things like that,” he continues rubbing his thumb across your lip, “I really need you to mean it.”

“I do mean it,” you whisper.

He gets off the bed and stands in front of you, holding his hand out, offering it to you. You take it, not sure what he meant by it. He helps you up, and before your feel fully hit the ground, he has scooped you up in his arms, carrying you towards the bathroom. You giggle into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He lets you down in the bathroom, leaning into the shower to turn the water on. You sat down on the closed toilet, legs still weak from before.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You just nod, stepping into the warm shower, making room for him to join you. He presses his body against yours as the water hits you, dampening your hair.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. You find it funny considering you had been sitting on his face not that long ago.

You lean in, letting the water wash over your faces as you press your lips to his, answering his question. He takes your face in his hands, the action much more gentile and romantic than what you had been doing earlier.

“So, I’m allowed to kiss you,” he starts asking, still cupping your face, “and I’m allowed to fuck you? Until it’s gone?”

“Well we defiantly are not going to be able to in Antarctica, so I suggest we get it all out now,” you say, extending this once-only contract, “Kiss me, fuck me, just don’t wash my hair and massage my scalp, because then I might accidentally fall in love with you.”

You turn around and press your ass into his already growing member, trying to distract him from what you had just said. Why did you say that? Your cheeks grew red, hoping that he would just forget it. His hands coming around your waist, running up and down your body as the water washed over you.

You lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him through hooded lids. His hair was now wet and sticking to his forehead, a few stray curls dangling over his eyes. You took a step back to look at his body, carved from fucking stone, as the shower gave him the sheen of a Renaissance painting.

“It’s definitely not gone,” you ran your hands over his stomach, down his hips, to his thighs and back up. “Peter,” you whisper.

His hand comes down to meet your center, and he guides your hand to his. You pull him towards you, stroking his dick in the process. You flip him so he is up against the shower wall, water hitting your back. Pressing your chest flush to his, you lean your head into the curve of his neck, sucking a spot at the base. You continue to make work of him with your hands while you slowly kiss down his chest, leaving splotchy marks on your trail.

You look up at him, now completely on your knees in front of him, hands on his thighs. You open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out, letting it lay flat against your bottom lip, letting him know you are ready for him. You arch your head forward, signaling for him to move his dick into your mouth.

“You want me to...”

You just nod in response sticking your tongue out a little further. He moves his hips forward, the tip of his dick entering your open mouth. After he pushes a few inches in, you wrap your lips around him, letting your tongue run along the underside of him. You stay like this for a moment, taking him slow and deep, seeing how much of him you can fit down your throat before needing to pull back.

You pick up your pace a little, moving your hands to his hips to let him know it’s okay to push into you a little. He moves his hand to the back of your hair, taking a handful. You moan into him, letting him know that you like it.

“Y/n,” he lets out, needy and breathy, “fuck, if you keep sucking my dick like that you’re gonna make me come.”

Before you could suck harder, work on getting him to his finish, you hear a sharp knock on your bedroom door.

“Hey, Y/n, you in there?” you hear you boss Stephen’s voice muffled through the shower.

“Mmmmhmmmm,” you answer loudly, not yet removing Peter’s dick from your mouth.

“We’re meeting upstairs in a little bit, come up once you’re out of the shower.”

“Okay, sure thing,” you respond, Peter’s dick no longer filling your mouth. He can’t help but laugh a little at the situation, chuckling to himself as he helps you up off your knees.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you start.

“No, no, it’s ok. You should probably go though,” he looks at you with apologetic eyes, knowing this was a situation you weren’t excited to find yourself in.

You step out of the shower and quickly slip your clothes back on, wrapping your hair in a towel. You notice a pad of sticky notes on your desk and scribble something down, placing it on the pillow of the messy bed for Peter to find. You hurry out and up the stairs, not wanting to be late for this meeting.

Peter finishes his shower and takes his time drying off, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. What was he to you? What were you to him? He had an underlying feeling that this meant more to both of you than you were willing to admit, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

He steps out of the steamy shower, searching for some sweats to throw on. He puts on a t-shirt and notices a bright orange note on his bed. He picks it up, smiling to himself as he reads your scratchy handwriting: “call me sometime” followed by your phone number. The number you hadn’t left the first night. A warm feeling crept into his chest. 


	6. Keep Me Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lowkey soft <3 light smut, some cuddling, and arrival to Antarctica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I don’t really know anything about Antarctica, or boats, or mountain climbing, or really anything… so if I’m factually wrong…plz just pretend that I’m right. Or, if you are an expert, hit my line and drop me some facts lol.

With each passing day, the boat got a little colder and colder. You were now nearing Antarctica, and travel became a little dicier. The boat would stay in one spot for a while, and then move when the time was right. The stopping and starting wasn’t as much of a problem for you as the temperature.

The boat was kept as warm as possible, but fuel had to be conserved for moving, so only so much heat could be used. The cold wasn’t unbearable, but just chilly enough to leave the tip of your nose and ears a constant state of frozen.

Luckily, you and everyone else were prepared for cold weather, sweaters and hats slowly getting unpacked and added to your daily wardrobe. You squeezed on as many pairs of socks as your feet cold fit and shuffled around the boat searching for a hot cup of coffee.

Peter was already in the kitchen boiling some water. The blue beanie he was wearing was pulled tightly down over his ears but left a few strands of his brown curls exposed at his forehead. God, this boy was going to be the end of you. You shoot him a glance and a grin before putting some chapstick on, making sure to smack your lips a little.

The two of you had come to a silent agreement, the possibility of staying away from each other completely was near impossible, but you wanted to keep things on the down-low regardless. You would continue to be friendly in front of everyone, but keep the flirting to a minimum, but at night… that’s when you were allowed to take out all your pent-up feelings.

Over the days following, you and Peter fell into a routine. During the day you would each go your respective ways, him with the Avengers and you with the climbing guides. You were each planning your respective aspects of the mission and would meet for a few hours each day. You generally stayed apart other than eating meals together and the occasional game of scrabble.

You wanted the appearance of friends, nothing more. However, you had come to the conclusion together that physically you were unable to stay apart. Pushing your two twin beds together, you slept tangled in each other, using the cold air as an excuse to share a blanket. He radiated enough heat for the two of you, and you took his warm body to your advantage during the cold nights.

Peter and you would crawl into bed, snuggling up with what would seem like the intention of sleep, but you both always knew what was coming. His hand would move up your thigh, drawing light circles around the edge of your underwear, pressing his large, warm hands flat up against your thighs, giving them a squeeze.

His head would bury into your neck, unable to keep himself from planting kisses behind your ears. You would always instinctively push your hips back, rolling the soft flesh of your ass into his hips, grinding against his hardening member. Sometimes your hands would tangle into his messy hair, other times they would lace themselves between his fingers, most often they would reach back and touch him where he wanted you most.

His hand would always make its way in between your legs, giving up on his teasing. You were simply taking advantage of the warmest parts of each other. It only made sense, right? You were just two friends, sharing a bed, sharing heat, sharing your bodies. It was the logical thing to do and had absolutely nothing to do with the way you would steal glances across the kitchen, a blush creeping in your chest when he would bump into you playfully. Obviously not, nothing to do with that.

You would eventually give in and turn around, allowing your mouth to meet his that had been patiently awaiting yours. Your cheeks would warm against his as your tongues met halfway, lips locking impatiently. Your nose had been cold, what could you say, and his mouth was always so inviting.

You would wrap your legs tightly around him, for heat conservation of course. Sooner or later the goal of staying warm would be long lost, your bodies were more than warm as they moved against one another, rubbing and sliding and pulling. You would eventually stop coming up with excuses in your head and let your body melt into his, let yourself just enjoy his presence.

You couldn’t help yourself. The way he would slip his fingers into you, curling them upwards, thumb on your clit as his mouth pressed harshly against yours, the way he opened you up for him, the way he eventually slipped himself inside of you, always letting out a beautiful grunt as he bottomed out, you had no excuses for that other than pure enjoyment.

Peter always kept his hands occupied, touching some part of you, one hand on your ass, the other in your hair, or both on your chest, sometimes they came up to cup your face. You noticed this about him, he always was moving his hands, unable to keep them still for more than a moment.

Sometimes it was slow and lustful, he would stare into your eyes as his hips buckles against yours, watching the way your lips fell open for him, the way your head rolled backward, and eyes fluttered shut. Sometimes it was more heated, your ass in the air rocking back and forth against him, his hands gripped deep into your hips.

Other times it was lazy, you would spoon your body flush against his and draw slow circles with your hips into him. This happened much less frequently, as he would find a way to flip you onto your back and press your thighs down, watching himself disappear into you, hard and fast.

Each night was different, yet the same. Crawl into bed with the false excuse of sharing body heat and end the night having shared a little more than that. Even though this routine became regular, he found new ways each night to make you squirm underneath him, not being able to contain your moans.

If you thought he was driving you crazy during the day, with his adorable sweaters, bringing you hot tea, his messy hair always sticking out of his hat, you were sorely mistaken. For every time you felt a spark or a warmth from him during the day, you felt a wildfire, a firework, an explosion when you were in bed.

It only turned you on more that the dorky boy that tried to make up new words during scrabble, arguing that phonetic spellings were valid, was so different in bed. He would surprise you with the way he looked at you, eyes dark and full of something else. You would have never expected him to touch you the way he did, with such confidence and skill.

With everything that surprised you, there were always moments that reminded you who you were with. When your foreheads would bump or your hands would get stuck in his hair, the two of you burst out laughing, his crinkled face falling into your sweaty neck. For every mind-blowing orgasm he gave you, there were also moments like this, just the two of you being silly together, the two of you being human.

You were sometimes a little intimidated by him. How could you not be, he had the body of a freaking god. He was a fucking superhero. The way he would scoop you up with such ease, as if your body was weightless, never failed to stun you. His arms were sculpted from marble, his jaw from stone. And the stamina, it never ended.

It would cross your mind from time to time, why exactly he even wanted to be sleeping with you. You weren’t perfect. The thought would enter your mind, is he only sleeping with me because I’m the only person here? Because I’m convenient?

The doubts that would slip into your thoughts during the day would vanish immediately when you crawled into bed with him. The way he looked at you, the way he touched your cheek, that can’t be faked. He would whisper to you how beautiful you looked, how perfect you were, both when he was fucking you and not. Although the whispers during sex were usually a little dirtier.

Your nightly routine would always start in the bed, with a brief cuddle, a charade of the possibility of sleep, and then it was dropped, and you ravished each other in every possible way. It would start in the bed, but didn’t always stay there. Sometimes the warm shower, although small, was the perfect spot to share your body heat. Other times when you couldn’t be bothered to make excuses like heat, you would find your back pressed against the cold hardwood floor as he drilled into you.

The bed, the shower, the desk, the armchair, the floor. There was not a surface in the small room you shared that was left un-fucked on. It felt kind of dirty, as the next day you would sit down to do some work or slouch on the armchair to read a book, only to remember the night before, being bent over the hard wood, being fucked against the shower wall, getting down on your knees to take him in your mouth. You liked the reminders though. It made the winks and shoulder bumps that happened during the day more bearable, knowing you would get the life fucked out of you that night.

These were the thoughts that flooded your mind as you sat at the table with your two coworkers, trying to figure out the best way to distribute the climbing gear. You were distracted, exactly what you wanted to avoid. You shook the feeling and tried to stay engaged, mostly agreeing with what they were saying.

It was hard to ignore though, as your legs still were sore from the previous night. You had struggled to even walk to the bathroom to clean up, Peter then offering to carry you back to bed. The ache between your legs wasn’t just from thinking about all the ways he had taken you last night, but physically because of all the ways he had taken you last night. You let them stretch out underneath the table, putting your weight back into the chair.

It was getting late, and the cups of coffee had stopped hours ago. Your boss decided that you were as prepared for the mission as you could be, and let you return to your room. You expected to arrive to Peter eagerly awaiting you in bed, sat straight up, usually with his shirt already off. However, when you slipped through the door, you noticed the lights were already off, and he was flopped over on his stomach onto your makeshift queen mattress.

“Hey, can I turn the lights on?” you whisper, unsure if he was asleep.

“Yeah, of course,” he rolled over and lazily sat up.

You flipped the lights on and started putting on your pajamas, a weird formality you did before having them ripped off you.

“Hey, y/n?” Peter asks, a tinge of nervousness in his voice, “I really like having sex with you.”

“Um, thanks?” you laugh, “Right back at you.”

“But,” he starts, “I’m so fucking tired, I really don’t think I can.”

You sprawl out onto the bed across his lap, “Thank fucking god, because I am still having trouble walking from yesterday.”

“You aren’t mad?” he still sounds nervous.

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” You look at him, confused, “Peter we don’t have to have sex every single day. We can take a break.”

“We can pull the beds apart, if you want…” he starts to get up from underneath you.

“Mmmm, no,” you mumble into his lap, now resting back down onto the pillows, “need you to keep me warm still.”

“Glad to know I can be your human-furnace when I’m not being your personal sex machine,” he jokes.

“Hey! You’re also my personal coffee maker and boxed mac and cheese chef,” you joke back, hugging onto one of his thighs so he couldn’t escape. He shifts down, laying on flat on the bed.

You move up, finding that you fit perfectly in the space between his arm and his chest, your face falling into the crook of his neck. You nuzzle your face into him, taking in his smell and sighing into his neck, letting out all your exhausted energy.

He leans his face down into your hair, placing a long and gentle kiss to the top of your head. A thick air settles around you, making you both realize that you hadn’t really shown physical affection to one another outside the context of sex. You had drunkenly kissed that one night, but otherwise kept your actions friendly and PG other than the hot, dirty sex you were having in secret.

“Sorry,” he pulls away, “sorry if that was weird.”

“No,” you pull back into him, reclaiming your space in his arms, “don’t apologize. You can kiss me if you want.”

You initiate, lifting your face up to meet his, connecting your gaze to his dark eyes. You hesitate, wondering if this is what he wants too, but you can see on his face that it is. You let your lips meet his, head still fully resting against his arm. You bring a hand up to cup his jaw softly, guiding his head to yours.

The kiss was slow. Patient. Still. He usually kissed you with fervor and lust, with tongue and teeth and wanting. His hands were usually moving around your form, finding skin to touch and grab onto. You usually leaned your body into his, wanting to get closer, closer, closer. This was not like the kisses you usually shared.

You planted your lips on his and let yourself stay there. His arm was trapped under your lazy head, the other draped over your side laid motionless. He kissed you back with the same stable fixation, doing nothing more than tilting his head to the side to let you in. It had never been like this, so calm, so relaxed, so normal.

Every time you had kissed him you would latch on as if it could be the last time, as if at any moment he could change his mind and walk away from you. You would wrap your arms and legs around him, locking him into your grip, keeping him close. This kiss, your lips lay loosely connected, bodies naturally molded into the bed where they laid. There was no desperation, no worry, no urgency.

You knew that if he broke the kiss to turn away, to take a breath, to fall asleep, that he would still be there the next time, lips ready and waiting for you. And yours would be waiting for his. Although the kiss was gentle and light, it meant that he could be yours to come back to.

Through all this, you had found solace in Peter’s company. Not only as your hot roommate who got you off over and over again, but as your friend. He was your scrabble partner, your drinking buddy, your lunch date. The waters of your relationship had never been choppy, but had always been a little murky. The two of you clicked in a way you had never felt with someone so quickly, but there was always that blanket of tension, that weird feeling and inability to describe it.

But there you were, laying in his arms, lips pressed to his, hand caressing the side of his face. It would be cheesy to say that time stopped, but you were unsure if your lips had been on his for a moment or an hour. With a soft motion, you remove your mouth from his, still hovering close to his face, but no longer touching.

“Hey,” he whispered, his words traveling directly to your lips. He felt stupid, not having anything better to say.

“Hi,” you whisper back, letting your cheek pressed against his strong bicep.

“I really like kissing you,” he responds, eyes growing heavy.

“Mmmm I really like you too,” you tell him in a tired voice, not responding exactly to what he had said, but the sentiment was all the same.

“And,” he starts, shifting slightly so his head rested fully back on the pillow, “I like you in a I-like-having-sex-with-you way but also in a more-than-that way.”

Instead of speaking, you just lean in, placing another sleepy kiss to his mouth, humming Mmm-hmmmm in agreement into him. Before the conversation could move beyond that, you both found yourselves asleep, his slow heartbeat pressing into your ear, lulling you to sleep. 

* * *

“Rise and shine lovebirds,” a pillow was thrown across the room, landing right atop you and Peter’s heads, “wakey wakey eggs and bakey, we are docking the boat soon, get your shit together.”

Bucky made a note to close your door loudly, causing you both to jump out of bed.

“Fuck, must’ve overslept,” Peter grumbled.

“Did you know that we were docking today? Because I didn’t,” you ask.

“Not sure. If I was told I must have forgotten,” Peter was frantically putting his clothes on, scooping up heaps of dirty laundry from the floor and shoving them into his open suitcase.

You quickly gather your belongings, organizing your suitcases and putting on a thick jacket. You and Peter make your way up to the top deck where everyone had gathered. The ice-cold air hit your face like a concrete wall. You sink your head down into the neck of your coat, trying to save your face from the wind. You notice Peter laughing to himself in the corner of your eye.

Mr. Stark explains that you will spend the day traveling inland, and will lodge overnight at a camp, hopefully departing the next day for your destination. This was all becoming very real very quickly. If the realization wasn’t hitting you, the cold air sure was.

You help move your belongings off the ship, and silently say goodbye to your little shared bedroom. The team split into two, each half boarding onto a large truck with wheels that were far taller than you. You hop in the back of the truck, taking a seat in between Peter and your boss Stephen. The truck had some heating, but not nearly enough to warrant removing your coat or gloves.

The trucks took off, trudging their way through the rolling hills of snow. You quickly grew sleepy, as there weren’t many things to occupy the time, and you hadn’t been getting much sleep on the boat. Your head found its way onto your shoulder, eyes drifting shut.

“Here,” Peter shifted in his seat, angling his lap towards you, “lay down.”

You typically would have refused, not wanting to seem needy, but you instinctively move your torso onto his thickly clothed lap, finding his thighs to be a perfect pillow. His hands came up to your hair, brushing away the strands that stuck out of your hat. He rubbed slow circles into your back as you drifted off the sleep, the rattle of the truck rocking you deeper.

Peter looks up to see an array of raised eyebrows coming from Steve, Bruce, and Natasha. He figured that everyone had known at this point, as Sam and Bucky had been relentless with the teasing. But he didn’t mind. Although he typically craved the approval of his superiors, this was something he couldn’t be bothered to care about. If the other Avengers were going to give him shit for this, so be it.

He continued to hold you in his lap, letting your soft, sleepy breaths remind him of the nights you spend tangled together in that stupid makeshift bed on the boat. He thought about the night you got drunk and danced in circles until you were toppled over onto the floor, a laughing mess. He thought about every scrabble game he had lost to you, every cup of coffee that he had made without you having to ask. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way a snarky grin would flash across your face before you would say something smart and funny. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Peter realized: he was in deep.


End file.
